


Cultural Exchange

by I_was_BOTWP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dating, F/M, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, Muggle Life, Pureblood Culture, Sarcasm, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-23 08:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 59,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_BOTWP/pseuds/I_was_BOTWP
Summary: It's ten years after the war - Hermione and Draco have been dating for the past two months. They realize that neither truly knows much about each other's upbringing or culture. Hermione comes up with the idea of taking turns planning dates to show off their respective worlds in ways that the other hasn't seen before.





	1. How Hermione Started A Super-Secret Society, In 2 Acts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [89JadedPictures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/89JadedPictures/gifts).



> I certainly do not own Harry Potter, as I am quite certain that I am not J. K. Rowling.
> 
> It has been 10 years since the war; if asked, Hermione and Draco would have considered themselves friendly acquaintances for some time now. After all, Wizarding Britain isn’t that large. And, they have found themselves with genuine friends in common. This isn’t one of those stories where they accidentally got too drunk and had sex. She certainly isn’t pregnant. Nor is it a marriage law story where two souls were unknowingly perfect for each other until the government stepped in and solved everything. Because we all know how well extreme government intervention works out in real life. Nope, this is just a story about two people who may have been a bit frightened to admit their attraction for each other because they were sure that it couldn’t be mutual. Until the day when one of them got up the guts to ask the other out for a cup of coffee. Two months later, Draco and Hermione realized that they knew so little about each other’s upbringing and culture. Hermione suggests they take turn planning dates for each other to show off places or events that the planner has experienced in the past, but the recipient knows nothing of.

“When I was a kid, I believed the theatre to be _magical_.”

“Me too.”

“Well, that’s ironic,” Hermione laughed.

“It is, isn’t it?” Draco conceded.

“I am not sure that this should count, you know.  Muggles and wizards both have theatre,” he recognized the sound her voice got right before she would pull out parchment and a quill and make a pros and cons list, or some such nonsense, so Draco quickly cut her off.

“The point is the themes are completely different, and there is actual magic used, not just visual effects, like in Muggle plays.  The Malfoys have held the same private box for hundreds of years.  Although my parents would often go alone on dates during my youth, when allowed to come along, I felt so special.  You know what my childhood was like and this is one of my happiest memories of my family just enjoying ourselves, all three together. That’s part of what I want to share with you.” His childhood sob stories worked on her, he thought as he tried to keep the smirk off of his face.  Not that he was lying… just _manipulating_ the truth.  He, by no means, remained as bothered by the idea of being a “poor little rich boy” as he sometimes let on.

“Ok, what are we seeing?” He knew it would work!

“It’s a production about a phoenix who loses his mate in a tragedy and then, due to his despair, he no longer possesses the power to burn up and be reborn.  But, he can’t die either, so he is just stuck, growing older and lonelier every year.  It has been getting rave reviews,” he said with a perfectly straight face.  She waited for him to crack, she knew which eyelid twitched when he tried to pull one over on her.  The twitch didn’t happen.  He just kept on looking at her, expecting her to say something.

“What?”

“Well, phoenixes mate for life, so he can’t find another one.  And I think that he tries to commit suicide, but physically can’t, because, he’s a phoenix, you know.  It’s a musical too, so there will be singing!” Draco looked so excited.

Hermione quickly glanced around, wondering if George would suddenly pop out and declare this to be a prank.  It appeared that was a no.  So, she did the only thing she could think of and asked,

“How do I look?  Are you sure this gown isn’t too fancy?” She asked with a true touch of self-doubt.  She wore a princess style silver gown with a fitted bodice, off the shoulder cap sleeves that were made of wispy silver feathers, and there were thick silver vines embroidered across the edge of her bust with one vine trailing down her side towards her waist.  The skirt was constructed out of what she suspected were hundreds of yards of silver tulle.

Draco shook his head and told her, “Actually, I don’t think it is quite fancy enough,” as he pulled a box out of his pocket.  He opened it to reveal a necklace with a cascade of diamonds that would fall perfectly into her cleavage.  As he placed it around her neck, he whispered in her ear, “Now you look exquisite.”

Then he apparated them to the designated room within the grand old theatre.  As they stepped away from the area, he steered them towards the bar.  Along the way, he saw people he knew, and felt obligated to chat with certain ones briefly for business or political reasons.  She suffered no such compulsion and just wanted to take it all in.  With a glass of champagne in hand, she proceeded to people-watch.  She felt surprised to see Daphne Greengrass across the room.  They had never spoken more than a few words to each other over the years, so Hermione supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to see her in any particular setting, since she really didn’t know the woman at all.  They both politely nodded at each other in mutual recognition and broke eye contact.  Hermione turned to Draco, asking, “Do we have time for one more drink before heading to our seats?”

They ran into Daphne outside of their box - Daphne readying to enter the one next to it.  Draco, ever the gentleman, introduced the women to each other like they may not know one another.  The house lights flashed, warning patrons that the start of the play grew imminent.

“Let’s have a cocktail together during the intermission and catch up,” Daphne said as they entered their separate boxes.  Draco agreed with Daphne, but Hermione experienced uncertainity regarding what they could possibly have in common to talk about, and silently lamented that it would ruin her people watching time.

The first act of the play turned out to be _worse_ than Hermione ever imagined possible.  _Way worse._   The plot proved to be as awful as the description that Draco had given her sounded.  The female phoenix died within the first five minutes.  Why the female proved able to die, but the male couldn’t, apparently warranted no explanation.  Like everyone was just supposed to _ignore_ that major plot hole.  Hermione wondered if the playwright had seen the movie “Groundhog Day”.  The male phoenix tried everything he could think of to kill himself, but every morning, he just woke back up, whole again.  And the dialog, oh Merlin, the dialog.  Thank the gods that Draco turned out to be incorrect and it wasn’t a musical after all.  Hermione did admit to herself that the use of magic in place of special effects excited her.  The wizard playing the lead role boasted what appeared to be real phoenix feathers growing out of him, some in _interesting_ places…

Near the end of the first act, a husband and wife team of wand makers appeared in the phoenixes’ land looking to gather feathers.  The wizard fell to his death while climbing up to a nest.  The witch also fell, seriously injuring herself and became stranded; luckily the protagonist found her.  ‘Wonder what is going to happen?’ Hermione’s sarcastic inner voice asked.  With a sigh, she exited the box with Draco, noting that he seemed to be enjoying it.

This level of the theatre contained a separate bar for the private use of the occupants of the boxes.  As they walked towards it to meet with Daphne, Hermione couldn’t help but overhear other patrons _gushing_ about the first half.  Two witches stood together, actually crying a little about the _“tragedy of it all”._   Draco spotted Daphne waiting near a bar height table, saving them a handy spot to stand comfortably.  “I’ll get us all some wine, if want to head over to Daph,” he motioned Hermione towards the other witch.

“So, what do you think of it so far?” Daphne immediately inquired.

“Ummm…  The transfiguration on the lead actor is an amazing bit of magic, isn’t it?”

“Oh, thank Circe, it isn’t just me!  It’s awful isn’t it?!” Daphne stated in a quiet undertone, with obvious relief.  “I thought that I might be the only one!  Stori saw it last weekend and was just gushing about it.  My sister is such a twit.”

“Is all wizarding theatre this bad?” Hermione discovered herself quickly taking a liking to Daphne.

“Pretty much.  There is an occasional diamond in the rough.”

“Muggle theatre is infinitely better.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Why not?”

“No one to go with, and I am too nervous to try it alone.”

“Want to go see a play with me?  Well, me and Hannah Abbot.  Her grandparents on her mother’s side were Muggles and took her to plays sometimes when she was growing up.  My parents did the same.  Now she and I try to see a play together once a month.  We plan to see Shakespeare’s “Much Ado About Nothing” in a few weeks.  Have you ever read anything by Shakespeare?”

“I would very much like to see a play with you.  Should I read something by Shakespeare before we go?”

“Holy shit!  Sorry.  You’ve never read anything by Shakespeare?!  Sorry, again.  I am not trying to be rude here.  I am just thinking about what the curriculum for Muggle Studies at Hogwarts should contain.” Hermione took a deep breath and started over with, “What I mean to say is that I would be happy to lend you a copy of a few of Shakespeare’s plays, including the one that we will be seeing.  I will owl them to you tomorrow.  My name actually came from a character in one of his plays, “The Winter’s Tale.””  Draco walked up with three glasses of red wine right at this point.

“I thought that you were named after the daughter of Helen of Troy,” he said as he handed a glass to each witch.

“My parents said that both Hermiones were inspiration for my name, but in the end, they always possessed a desire to name their child after a Shakespearean character.  So, that is the one that I usually refer to.”

“Pretty good production, don’t you think?” Daphne asked Draco without a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“I am excited to see if the second act is as good as the first,” Draco answered.  He turned to look at Hermione and Hermione caught the smirk on Daphne’s lips behind his back.

* * *

 In a totally predictable storyline, the second act proceeded with the witch and phoenix trying not fall in love with each other, because that would be wrong ( _as if this entire play wasn’t wrong!),_ as the phoenix nursed the witch back to health.  The phoenix grew too old and weak to be able to fly her to safety, like Fawkes had done with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lockhart in the Chamber of Secrets.  The two fought against the inevitable in formulaic fashion, until they could no longer deny their love.

The play concluded with the phoenix bursting into flames to be reborn, and then flying into the sunset with the witch holding tight to his tail.

The entire theater came to their feet with a standing ovation.

Hermione suspected that she needed to stand and clap along; people may actually notice if she didn’t, and that was not something with which she really wanted to deal.  As she limply brought her hands together the minimum number of times she thought she could get away with, she realized she could see Daphne around the divide between their boxes doing the same.  Daphne turned to look at her and when their eyes met, both hid their small smiles.

Back outside in the hallway, they all met up again.  Someone called out Draco’s name and he moved away for a moment to say a word.  Hermione thought that she recognized the wizard as a Wizengamot member.  Daphne inclined her head towards the bar that remained open and Hermione nodded.  Both were busy eavesdropping on snippets of conversations around them that seemed to only contain complimentary reviews of the play.

“…when he cried tears onto her ankle to heal it, I nearly cried too…”

“…and how she collected ten tail feathers from ten different birds to create ten wands to honor the ten years she had been married…”

“…my favorite playwright, he never disappoints…”

“…never expected that ending…”

The women quickly got wine and proceeded to use the glasses held against their lips to hide their giggles.

The next morning, Hermione owled over some of Shakespeare’s plays to Daphne; her owl returned with a perfunctory thank you note tied to its leg.  Two days later, Hermione received an effusive thank you note from Daphne with a request for more plays, if possible.  Hermione discovered that Daphne’s appetite for the written word may rival her own.

Three weeks later, when Hannah, Daphne, and Hermione attended the performance of “Much Ado About Nothing”, Daphne left speechless.  Afterwards, the three went out for drinks, Daphne regained the use of words, and they talked about theatre until the bar closed, forcing them to part.  Hannah had trouble believing the other two witches when they tried to explain how awful wizarding plays were.  Daphne offered to host them in her family’s box for the next production that the theatre put on.

And so was born a secret society with just three members, an unlikely trio of a Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, who met up twice per month.  One time, to get tipsy at the wizard theatre and lambast the tripe that it produced, always being careful to not be overheard and to keep up the appearance of being true patrons of the arts.  The other time, to attend exceptional theatre in Muggle London, waiting until afterwards to drink a bottle, or two, of wine and debate the finer points of the production.  None of Daphne’s other friends knew that she snuck out to Muggle London with the other two women on a regular basis.

When Hannah read that there were going to be open try-outs for a Shakespearean Festival with “The Winter’s Tale” on the playbill, she and Daphne talked Hermione into auditioning for the part of her namesake.  Although Hermione made it through the first round for a call back, she knew that her acting abilities truthfully were not good enough to even be an understudy.  She did think of the experience as unforgettable.

Draco liked to brag that he introduced Hermione to the wonders of magical theatre.  He never really understood what the three women got up to on the nights they went out to plays.


	2. Paint The Town Red

Hermione was very excited to take Draco to a painting class.  She first tried it out with Luna a few months back, and the experience proved so entertaining, Hermione found herself already looking forward to going back again.  When she went with Luna, the instruction encompassed vines covered with flowers.  Luna, unsurprisingly, created something unique with light brush-strokes radiating outwards from a central point in each bloom, making her flowers appear to be blue and purple fireworks bursting out from the vines.  Hermione secretly suspected her own attempt, which she created by following the instruction to a “T”, looked sort of sad in comparison.

The studio offered plenty of wine during the class, and after a sufficient amount, Hermione found she really didn’t give a rat’s arse.  She instead found satisfaction in her flowers being better than the woman’s whose contained faces in the middle and looked like clowns.  Very frightening clowns reminiscent of _It.  Shudder._  

Luna’s open mind and fun-loving nature made her perfect for that particular Muggle experience.  She was willing to get a little dirty and she did not get frustrated at imperfection.  Exactly the opposite, in fact.  Hermione couldn’t decide if Draco would appreciate it in the same way as Luna.  What if he got paint on some his overly expensive clothes?  He couldn’t very well scourgify them in front of Muggles.

Which left Hermione feeling unsure of what she should think when he quickly acquiesced to her suggestion at this first Muggle-experience date.  Had he seemed _relieved_?  She chose a night when the class would be for something she hoped Draco would enjoy – van Gogh’s _The Starry Night_.  (Hello, the wizard’s name came from a constellation!)  She explained to him who Vincent van Gogh was, and told him a bit about this particular painting.  The artist painted it while peering out the window of his room at an insane asylum.  The window would have had bars; he took a bit of license in leaving those out.  She revealed that historians were of the opinion that van Gogh created the painting during a time when Venus would have been very bright, so one of the stars in the painting was in fact a planet.  Her brow furrowed with slight worry when she realized the blonde now looked quite bored.  Perhaps she droned on a bit too long?  Well, she knew he liked wine, so the night wouldn’t be a total shite show, right?

She asked Draco if he owned appropriate Muggle clothes to wear.  She explained his outfit should be casual and something he wouldn’t mind getting dirty.  Her plan included eating a light dinner at her flat before they went out.  They would then take the tube from her place to a stop just a block’s walk to the class.  Which led to an in-depth talk of what to expect and how to act while riding on an underground train which was _nothing_ like riding the Hogwarts Express.

* * *

Draco floo’ed into her flat wearing designer jeans that fell low on his hips and showed off his delectable arse, a vintage Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt tucked in above his belt, and on his feet were trainers.  Muggle trainers.  She froze and stared at the wizard.

“Trying to catch flies in your mouth, Granger?” he smirked at her, obviously proud of his perfect outfit.

“How do you know who Siouxsie and the Banshees even are?” tumbled out of her mouth in a disbelieving tone.

“I don’t,” he shrugged with indifference, “I just liked that there are banshees involved.”

Oh, this was rich, Hermione thought with an audible snort, as she tried to formulate a way to explain punk rock and the advent of the gothic scene led by Siouxsie Sioux’s menacing make-up and penchant for wearing dark clothing to someone whose teenage years epitomized the same persona.  Wait!  Did he in fact think there were _real_ banshees in the group?

“Uh, you know there aren’t real banshees in the band, yeah?”

“There aren’t?  Oh, I am going to kill Potter.  Should I also assume that They Might Be Giants isn’t a band made up of half-breeds?”

Hermione wanted to reply, but was laughing so hard, she couldn’t form words.

“You realize that git also told me The Beastie Boys are animagi.”

Hermione was doubled over with laughter by this point and desperately hoping to not wet her knickers.  When she finally caught her breath, she cast a Patronus and mirthfully intoned, “I’m disappointed you forgot The Pixies.”  Then she directed her playful little otter to deliver the message to Harry Potter.

She turned to find Draco’s mercurial eyes assessing her.  “Merlin.  Do you know how few people in the world can cast a Patronus capable of carrying messages?  You act like it’s nothing.  Just sending a sarcastic little bon mot to your best friend.”

Of course, his invective coincided with Harry’s stag returning the message, “Well, I got distracted while trying to make the difficult decision between The Beastie Boys and The Beatles for the anamagi group.  Because he doesn’t know that we know that he knew that Rita Skeeter was a beetle, does he?  Oh shite, he’s there right now isn’t he?”  There was a very pregnant pause, followed by, “No wait, I wasn’t done yet…” in a fading tone as Harry’s Patronus already began bounding away to deliver its message to the intended recipient.

Hermione looked back to Draco ready to point out the lesson showing why you made sure you always told your message in full to the Patronus _before_ you told it the name of the intended recipient.  A long enough pause may be enough for the charm to decide the message to be complete and ready for delivery.  It became a failsafe in dire circumstances.  She found Draco’s cheeks to be an interesting shade of pink.

“About that…” he slowly drawled.

* * *

Hermione didn’t remember her first ride on the underground.  She’d grown up thinking it was normal to get on it with her Muggle parents to go places.  Everyone in London used it.  Even as a teenager, she rode it with Muggle friends over the summer and during holidays when they went out into the city.  However, she felt sure Draco would never forget his first time.

He admitted his family always apparated straight onto Platform 9¾, so he remained ignorant of the Muggle side of King’s Cross.  Meaning, he was understandably distracted from the moment they started down the steps of the stop by her place, and as they went through the turnstile, and up until they stood on the platform waiting for the next train to pull up.  At least that part was a little familiar to him.  Then the shock was back on his face when they stepped inside and she quickly reminded him to grab the pole as the train took off.  As much as she tried to properly prepare, his imagination only took him so far.

Luckily, anyone who noticed didn’t care.  Mostly people were staring at newspapers, books, or their phones.  If anyone possessed a thought at all on the situation, it was probably something along the lines of pitying the country bumpkin on his first trip into the big city.  Technically, Draco grew up in the country, and while he may not lack worldly experience, it was nothing like the experiences of the Muggles around them.  And so she wasn’t embarrassed in the least by his blatant staring at their surroundings.

“It smelled awful in there,” was his first observation when they disembarked.

“You get used to it.”

“Why would you want to?” he genuinely wanted to know.

“Most people who live in the city don’t own cars, same as me.  It’s for a variety of reasons.  Parking near your flat is difficult to find and can be prohibitively expensive for many people.  Traffic is almost always a pain in the arse.  And then you have to find a place to park at your destination and probably pay again for that daily privilege.  If the tube doesn’t have a route to your destination, there are buses and cabs.  In the end, it turns out to be more _inconvenient_ for most people to have a car than it is to take public transportation.  So, you take the good with the bad.  My parents own cars because they live far enough out in the suburbs for it to be impractical not to.  Plus, they don’t have to pay to park at their own businesses.  Even so, they ride the tube too when it is convenient.”

* * *

“Look, I need to tell you something.”

Draco suddenly stopped walking and just stood in the middle of the sidewalk, talking to her hair.  She turned around and came back to him, saying nothing, waiting for him to continue.  He was wearing his blank face.  He put on that face for various reasons, and she was still trying to learn all of them.  In this case, Hermione would guess it signaled nervousness.

“Iknowhowtopaint.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know how to paint.  I am actually a fair artist.  I devised a cockamamie plan to pretend I don’t know how, and then show off my skills and embarrass you for making assumptions about me.  But, I suddenly find myself in a position where this isn’t a template for how I should act,” the entire time Draco spoke, he was staring at a point in space just above her left ear; he went on with, “I am fairly certain a passive aggressive attack on my girlfriend for an honest mistake wouldn’t have been one of my finer moments.  So… yeah.  I know very well who Vincent van Gogh is.  My parents hired various private tutors as part of a well-rounded pureblood education, including an art instructor.  I should have told you sooner than on the sidewalk outside our destination.”

“Does this mean you don’t want to go to this class with me?  Do you think I picked something stupid?”  Hermione was unsure of all the connotations behind his revelation.  Why would he want to embarrass her?  What would he gain from making her feel inferior?  Did he still, in some small way, feel her to be second-rate to him?  Her self-esteem didn’t seem up to getting those answers right now, so the easiest questions centered on whether they were going to continue walking towards their destination, or if they should turn around.

Draco observed the emotions flitting across her face as he surreptitiously studied her out of the corner of his eye.  It was safer to look at the lamppost just behind the brunette than to look directly at her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching her.  Maybe he should have just pretended to be a novice, neither enacting his previous plan, nor spilling the truth to her.  Bloody Gryffindor Princess.  Rubbing off on him after three months of dating, making him believe in the power of the truth, or some such bollocks.  He was about to turn on his heel and head back towards the tube, sure she wouldn’t want to continue their night out, when her face rested upon uncertainty.

“No, you didn’t pick something stupid.  I’ve never painted like this before.  I was looking forward to it,” which wasn’t a lie, even if he sort of tried to sabotage the venture.  “Do you still want to go?”

“Only if you want to.”

Draco grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and pulled her towards the door to the studio.

* * *

Hermione’s first glass of wine disappeared in three successive gulps.  She felt herself relaxing as she sipped on her second glass in a far more sedate manner.  Draco mirrored her actions and she recognized they were on even footing.  Both were unsure of where this night should go.  This wasn’t the first time they inadvertently fell back into their previously customary roles in each other’s lives.  Establishing trust was an ongoing effort for the two of them.

They remained quiet until about 15 minutes into the class.

“Amateur,” Draco huffed, barely discernable.

“Well, we can’t all be as privileged as you,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth, barely holding back on adding _tosser_ to the end.

“Not you, witch,” he replied in an undertone with a roll of his eyes.  “The instructor is a complete amateur.”

“Oh.  Sorry,” she whispered, feeling properly chastised.  “And don’t call me a witch.  You know Muggles equate it with bitch, yeah?”

“Well, then the instructor is a right _witch_ ,” Draco informed, careful to make sure only Hermione heard him.  She let out a giggle at his astute assessment.  Really, the woman taught painting like a drill sergeant.

After that, Draco kept a steady stream of quips only Hermione was privy to in order to keep her amused.  Even with his attention split between dropping sarcasm bombs into her ear and the canvas, Draco’s painting was turning out _a million times_ better than hers.  It really wasn’t fair.  The play between light and shadows and the sense of a warm summer breeze were all there on display.

By her third glass of wine, Hermione started to become mesmerized by his fingers holding the paint brush.  He was so sure of himself.  She quickly looked away, pretending to study anything and everything else, each time he almost caught her staring.  The words running through her mind centered around synonyms for stroke, such as caress, touch, finger, and stroke.  Her inner monologue became quite obscene.

Draco smirked at how adorable Hermione was.  She really believed he didn’t know where her dirty little brain was wandering off to.  She kept licking her lips while watching him paint.  And then she would look away with a small blush.  The Slytherin paid her no mind; the situation played nicely into the plan forming in his head.  After nearly ruining the first date she arranged, he wanted to make it up to her.  If she wondered what else his fingers could be doing, he fashioned an idea to show her something unexpected.

Neither Hermione nor Draco missed the covetous looks sent Hermione’s way by most of the women in the room as the night wrapped up.  Draco’s picture was flawless (he persisted in contrarily pointing out the tiniest imperfections), he managed to stay immaculately clean, and he only had eyes for his date.  They both overheard one woman exclaim in a not-as-quiet-as-she-thought voice to her friend, “Where do I get me one of those?”  Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione’s ensuing giggles.

* * *

“No, just wait here.  I am going to floo to my place for two minutes and be right back,” he commanded the curly-haired vixen as he stopped the fingers deftly working on his belt buckle.  Late night snogging on a subway train didn’t garner many stares; indulgences taken in public led to both of them feeling worked up by the time they made it back to the privacy of Hermione’s flat.  His shirt was already on the floor.

“What could you possibly need from there right this instant?” she whinged.

Draco moaned low in his throat as she snuck one hand back down to front of his trousers, giving the prominent bulge a squeeze through the rugged cotton material.  She rubbed the heel of her hand against his length and he sucked in his breath, calling upon his willpower to pull back and walk away.

“Two minutes.  I promise.”

True to his word, he immediately returned to her living room with a sketchpad and small tin with “Faber-Castell” printed on the cover in hand.

“I want to draw you.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”  He paused a beat before adding, “Naked.”

“Ohhh…  Ummm…”  Hermione faltered in discomfiture before she really examined the Adonis in front her, hair mussed from her fingers, lips slightly swollen from her teeth, bare chested, a hard cock evident in his tight jeans, staring at her with undisguised lust.  Her knickers dampened in response.  “Ok,” the Gryffindor let out in a husky voice.

Draco’s face lit up at her acquiescence and he moved towards her bedroom, confident she would follow him.  He quickly conjured a comfortable chair which he faced towards the bed.  He adjusted the lighting to his preferences and turned back towards his witch.  She reminded him of a skittish kitten, watching him to decide if she should be prepared to be treated like the Queen of Sheba, or if maybe she needed to hiss and bring out her claws in an act of dominance.

Teenage Draco may have abhorred a certain bossy little swot, but he now found certain acts became infinitely more pleasurable with the witch’s smart tongue and nails added into the mix.  However, he required the Queen of Sheba tonight.  He set down his supplies and stalked towards her.  Hermione’s lips parted and her pupils dilated noticeably as he came to a stop directly in front of her, inches away, but not touching her yet.

“I’m going to slowly strip you, taking my time to trail every inch of your body with my fingertips.  I expect you to be a good girl and stand perfectly still, unless I otherwise direct you to move.  You will not touch me in return.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Hermione purred in a tone causing Draco’s cock to pulse.

Draco slid her shirt over her head and admired the black lace bra he found underneath it.  He skimmed his hands down her arms, commencing at the shoulders and making their way to her fingertips, then back up again.  He followed the curve of her collarbone, ghosting his fingers along her neck.  One thumb came up and traced the bottom lip currently pushed out in a small pout.  Both hands tangled themselves into her riotous curls before he dipped his head down for the briefest of kisses.  She groaned in slight protest when he broke apart from the small taste.  His hands wandered down her back, swirling around, dancing across her skin.  When she arched towards him, he unlatched her bra.

“You’re doing excellent, kitten,” he commended Hermione on the restraint it took to keep her arms down at her sides as he stepped back to relieve her of the lace covering.  Her eyes lit up with a small bit of triumph.  Hermione Granger enjoyed excelling in any endeavor.  His mind raced ahead to where he wanted this night to go.  He grounded himself with an inner chastisement to take this slowly.  He wanted his witch to remember this apology and know that she could trust him.

Hermione’s disbelief of the current situation explained part of the reason she managed to stand so still.  She never imagined being worshipped in quite this manner before.  Because what else would you call the way Draco reverently stroked her ribs, the turn of her waist, the dip of her navel?  His hums of pleasure when he cupped her breasts, his fingers brushing her nipples until they pebbled, caused her own little noises in response.

Draco dropped to his knees and looked up at Hermione, keeping eye contact as unbuttoned her jeans and slid down the zipper.  His fingers charted the lace edge of her knickers from front to rear, meeting in the back and then dipping into her jeans to cup her arse over the top of the fabric that matched the discarded bra.  He proceeded to slide the trousers down her legs using his wrists, keeping the palms of his hands against the skin of her legs the entire time.

“You may place your hands on my shoulders for balance,” he allowed as he helped her out of her shoes, socks, and jeans.  “Now back to the no touching,” he commanded with a smirk.

Even before dropping his eyes, Draco knew he would find the front of Hermione’s knickers dampened.  He had been breathing in the scent of her arousal since coming to his knees.  The heady aroma intoxicated him.  He trailed a finger along the wet mark in front of him, feeling her clit and the outline of her labia.  He kept going and brought up his other hand to meet it, then made his way down her legs to her ankles.

“Draco…” she moaned in protest as he took away the brief contact he barely allowed at the place she craved it.

“We’ll get there, Hermione.  I promise to reward you for your _outstanding_ behavior.”

“How much longer do you plan to tease me?”

“Long enough to draw you.”

He moved his hands back up her legs and crooked his fingers over the top edges of her knickers, pulling them down and baring her trimmed pussy to his hungry eyes.

“Exquisite.  Let’s get you up on the bed, love.”

Draco arranged her body in the pose he wanted before he spoke again, “You’ve been perfect for me.  I’m going to give you a little bit of a taste of your reward now.  But, still no moving.  Can you continue to do that for me, kitten?”

“Yes.”

He cupped the juncture between her legs with one hand, then slowly slid a finger between her wet folds, teasing her entrance without dipping in.  He slid upwards, using the moisture to allow his finger to easily circle around her clit.  Her body vibrated with a want to move, to push her hips forward, to arch her neck backwards, to grab on to him.  Hermione panted with longing.  A small part of her considered the possibility of this situation being debasing.  Mostly though, she desired to be Draco’s good girl, to earn her boyfriend’s praise, to see the approval in his eyes when she continued to perform as he commanded.

Draco stepped back from her, taking in the tableau he had created.  Hermione oozed sex appeal and unfulfilled lust.  He would have to be quick to capture it.  He shucked his shoes and socks and pulled his belt off, tossing it aside.  Her eyes tracked his movements, obviously turned on by even this small amount of disrobing on his part.  His dick ached to be freed from the confines of his trousers, but that wouldn’t help him keep on track with the sketching.

“I want to capture this look.  This wanton look where all you can think about is me taking off the rest of my clothing and finishing what I’ve started.  Because you do want me to come back and finish what my fingers were doing just now don’t you?  You want your reward, Hermione.”

“Oh gods, yes, Draco.”

Draco efficiently used his time, even while talking.  The drawing began at nearly the same moment his belt made a soft thud on her bedroom carpet.  He fell into a rhythm as he selected a pencil to outline her shape, switching to another to shadow, and yet another to define.  The wizard’s wand-hand contained small callouses which didn’t come from spell casting, but rather from holding pencils.  Draco’s earlier admission regarding art instruction left out that his true passion belonged to drawing.

“I can’t wait to be back on that bed with you, head between those thighs, mouth locked onto your sweet little clit, fingers buried in your tight pussy.  I am going to stroke them in and out until you come all over them.  Then I am going to fill you up with my cock and make you come all over it.  Is that what you want?  I know it’s what I want.”

Draco kept up the dirty talk hoping it would keep Hermione as turned on as possible.  It apparently worked, if the parting of her lips, the continued hardness of her nipples, and the way she incrementally moved her thighs in search of friction gave any indication.  He thought about chastising her for the minute movement, but deemed the perceived criticism a surefire way to ruin the moment.

He finished the sketch in record time.  It was still slightly rough; he would refine small bits of it later.  Now though, her reward was to be his reward too.  His jeans and boxer briefs disappeared in record time and he practically dove between her legs, only pausing to declare, “Outstanding.”

Hermione nearly crowed at the praise.  Who knew it could feel so goddamn good to receive top marks from Draco Malfoy?  And the incentive to go along with his grade proved much better than house points.  He made good on his promises, quickly bringing her to a _loud_ orgasm with two fingers curled inside of her and his mouth and tongue working her swollen nub.  She forgot to ask if she could touch him now, she realized as her hands grabbed either side of his head while waves of bliss crashed over her.  He made no move to stop her.  Her hands dropped back to the bed as her body came down from its peak.  Then he rose up on his knees, placing her legs up on his shoulders, surging into her all of the way to the hilt.

Draco paused as Hermione’s tight, wet heat enveloped him.  The teasing had inevitably gone both ways over the past hour.  He had worked himself up along with her and was hard as steel; he’d been dripping precum.  They’d had enough sex to be comfortable with each other, but this night turned into the first truly adventurous moment they’d shared.  Did this still count as an apology?  Or had it morphed into his reward for daring to change the dynamic in the bedroom?  Why the hell was he asking himself these questions now?  He pulled out and slammed back in, telling himself that there would be time to think later.  His brain wasn’t currently getting enough blood for these deep thoughts.  He started up a hard, fast pace.  His left hand found its way between Hermione’s legs, furiously rubbing her clit, needing to get her there fast.  He could already feel his balls tightening up.

“Play with your nipples.”  Hermione quickly complied.  He felt her walls begin to flutter around him.  It triggered a tingling in his balls.  “Oh fuck.  Oh shite.  Hermione!”  He pushed deep in, pausing as the first shot of cum left him.  He concentrated on keeping his finger moving on her clit, willing her to follow him over the edge.  On the next stroke out, then back in, he felt it happen, her walls clamping down, milking his cock of the subsequent spurts.

“Oh sweet Circe,” Hermione sighed in absolute bliss.  Draco allowed her legs down off his shoulders, running his hands gently down them as they fell.

Draco looked down at her debauched body as he pulled out.  “Don’t move,” he told her with a laugh.

“Why would I want to?” she laughed back at him.

Draco jumped back out of bed, energized by the thought of getting this picture recorded.  Turning to a fresh page, Draco started a new sketch.


	3. If Amortentia Smells Like Parchment

“What did the Sorting Hat say to you when you were sorted?”

She wasn’t the first person to ask him this question.  Everyone present saw how quickly the hat made the decision made for him.  He found a sick sense of satisfaction in giving the fictitious answer of ‘Easiest one this year’; people never questioned a lie when it perfectly met their expectation of what the truth ought to be.  The truth remained a little more complex.  The hat asked him one simple question and Draco answered ‘No’.  He now felt sure the question contained layers of complexity his 11-year-old-self couldn’t have guessed at.

Until today, only two people knew the true answer.  On their first night together in the Slytherin dorms, Theo shared his secret of the hat suggesting Ravenclaw.  Theo gave Draco a shrewd look after Draco divulged the truth of his sorting, and suggested maybe Draco shouldn’t tell anyone else.  ‘There can’t be any doubt for a Malfoy, can there?’ he asked Draco.  No, no there couldn’t be.  Lucius’ indoctrination of Draco into believing _what a Malfoy should be_ began at a young age.  He chose to reveal the truth of his own accord to his mother the day after his father’s funeral.

“It asked ‘Are you ready to break tradition?’ and I arrogantly answered ‘No’, before it yelled out _Slytherin_.  What did I know at eleven?  I knew to do what my father told me.  I was so proud to arrive at Hogwarts with my first real mission.  My assigned task, which I only learned about a month prior, was to befriend Harry Potter and determine if he was to be the next Dark Lord.  It was obvious, even before we walked into the Great Hall - he was not what my father hoped for.  As the hat slipped over my head, my thoughts may have been still lingering on what I planned to tell my father regarding Harry Potter when I owled him later.  Nearly 20 years have passed, and I still wish I could ask that blasted hat what it meant by the word ‘ready’.”  The entire story came tumbling out now, leaving him strangely relieved, even as a raw and vulnerable crept in.

Hermione looked at Draco with sad eyes.  She was slowly meeting the demons who continued to haunt this wizard.  Just when he allowed her to dismantle a ward, she discovered yet another _set_ of complex wards behind it.  Hermione knew firsthand the destruction an out-of-control Gemino Curse could cause.  Draco’s demons weren’t all created by Voldemort, his parents, or even the other Death Eaters.  Some he piled up all on his own.

“What house would you have selected, if not Slytherin?”

“I’d like to think I could have carved a niche for myself in Ravenclaw.  And yet, in my heart, I am a Slytherin.  I don’t think the hat sorted me incorrectly.  Does that make any sense?  I’m agonizing over what I believe, in the end, to be the right answer.  _Was the hat giving me a choice?_   What if I had been given a choice and the hat still put me in Slytherin?  I see it as my first non-choice in an ever-widening river rushing over rapids towards a waterfall of _not having a fucking choice._ ”  Draco took a breath.  “Or not understanding there was a choice,” he whispered the last sentence.

They were sitting on the couch in her flat, popcorn in the microwave (long-since forgotten) and a movie queued up for a quiet night in.  Hermione originally thought her question made for interesting chit chat during the five minutes or so before they were munching on popcorn and watching the film.  She couldn’t decide if her selection of _The Breakfast Club_ was apropos given the turn in conversation.

The options flitting through Hermione’s mind all seemed wrong.  Offer up a platitude by reminding him he was a kid and it wasn’t really his fault?  Placate him with hollow words regarding his choice not to kill Dumbledore or to positively identify her, Harry, and Ron in his home?  Maybe congratulate him on his superior choice in girlfriends – namely her?  She knew now would not be the appropriate time to tell him her sorting hat story.

Alternatively, she chose to pull his head down into her lap and run her fingers through his hair over and over, just holding him quietly.  Draco knew it took a lot for Hermione to not say a word.  And so he said the only thing which came to mind,

“I love you.”

Well there was something new.  Was it awful that the first thing which popped into her mind was, “I know”?  At least she managed to not say it aloud.

“I love you, too.”

* * *

In the end, they skipped the movie (maybe it had something to do with Hermione grabbing the remote to turn off the tele at the same time as she told Draco, “I’d rather have your cock in my mouth right now”) and it wasn’t until three days later when she opened her microwave and discovered the stale popcorn.  Instead, she led him to her bedroom as he murmured, “I love you,” over and over between kisses on her lips, her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck, then up her stomach as he pulled up her shirt.  She returned each word with equal ardor.

When Hermione made her way down his body to take his warm silky length into her mouth, she kept her eyes locked on his.  She wrapped her hand around the base, gripping tightly.  She darted the tip of her tongue out to lick around the head, flattening her tongue out as she trailed down the underside, then back up, still keeping it broad against him, with her hand following her mouth.  She swiped her thumb over the top and then moved her hand back down, giving a little twisting motion at the same time.  Her tongue traced around the head again, flicking with a bit more pressure on the frenulum.

Draco watched Hermione’s lips slowly work their way over the broad head of his cock.  The way she kept eye contact with him the entire time was so fucking hot.  He concentrated on not bucking his hips as she ever so slowly worked her mouth down to meet the hand still wrapped around him.  At the moment she had him fully engulfed within her hand and mouth, she let out a moan, the vibrations going straight to his bollocks.  Merlin, he really loved this woman.

She set up a steady rhythm, using a combination of hand, lips, and tongue to stimulate his shaft.  With her other hand, she began to lightly roll his bollocks around while continuing to suck his dick. She gave the whole sack a few soft tugs.  She then very gently used her thumb and forefinger to pinch the skin between the two balls, sliding her fingers from the base of his scrotum to the tips of his testicles. Draco let out a loud, “Yes!” when she moved her mouth’s focus from his dick to his bollocks. Hermione’s hand kept going up and down on his penis, with a delicious little wrist twist and thumb swipe across the top, as she licked all around his testicles with a broad, flat tongue. Taking each ball in her mouth for a minute and sucking sent him over the edge.  With no need to worry about gagging her, he began to thrust into her wet, tight hand, allowing his hands to grip her head.  All the while, watching her.

Hermione felt his sack tighten up as his hips moved back and forth and knew his orgasm was imminent.  She managed to get her mouth back over the head just in time to start swallowing.  As she gave one final firm suck to make sure nothing was left behind, Draco avowed, “Hermione Jean Granger, I love you.”

* * *

“I want you to come with me to an event.”  They were lying in her bed an hour later, she on her stomach with her head facing towards him, Draco on his side, head cupped in his hand with elbow underneath as he looked down on her and seemingly stated this out of nowhere.  “The Malfoy family is bestowing a number of ancient books to the American Wizard Library of Congress.  Some will become a part of their permanent collection, while others are only on loan.  It won’t be a large event and it won’t be a gala fundraiser such as you have become accustomed to over the past few years.  It will be a small, private affair with special access granted to special guests.”

“You want me to come with you to the largest library in the world as your guest to a backstage access event?  Only death would keep me away.”

“That’s about what I figured you’d say,” he smirked down at her, then leaned in to kiss her nose.  “It’s funny the small things you sometimes remember, yeah?  Well, I remember a certain potions class where you admitted aloud how Amortentia smells like parchment for you.  Along with fresh cut grass and… something else.”

“I don’t think the last one would apply anymore,” she said evasively.  How could she tell her current lover that the love potion’s third scent could best be described as her first love’s hair?  “What did you smell?” 

Draco considered his girlfriend’s lack of guile to be adorable.  Well, she had more cunning than most other non-Slytherins he knew, but really, who did she think she was fooling?  Luckily for her, he was _mature enough_ to let her have her privacy.  Most of the time.  This time.  “Peonies – my mother is partial to them and grows a large number of varieties in our gardens, a combination of wood and leather – Quidditch gear, and chocolate.  I wonder if mine would still be the same?” he idly pondered before getting back on track.  “The event is in two weeks.  We can spend a weekend there, if you like.  Have you been there before?”

When she shook her head in the negative, Draco continued, “Washington D.C. has a slightly stuffy magical district.  I am under the impression the designers were trying to build the diametric opposite of Diagon Alley when it was constructed soon after the end of the American War of Independence.  However, they do have a grand hotel we can stay in.  There shouldn’t be any need for us to go into the Muggle part of the city, unless you want to.”

“Is this going to count as one of your dates?” she asked while simultaneously wondering what a _Malfoy_ considered _stuffy_.  Would everyone be walking around with actual sticks up their arses?

“I guess it is.”

* * *

Draco arranged for a 4:00pm International Portkey to The States on a Friday, with a return set for noon local time on Sunday.  International Portkey travel was still strictly regulated and as such, most of it originated from and concluded in Ministry buildings.  Exceptions were made for certain large scale events, when pre-set portkeys would be sent out with instructions to the travelers.  Today there were a few others traveling to various destinations in North America, as this was a popular time due to the time difference.

They were handed an empty picture frame, it no longer contained the glass, and told to queue up.  Hermione carried only her handbag, but Draco was already privy to how much his witch could fit into that thing.  Draco held a small trunk under his arm; it was in actuality quite a bit larger when unshrunk.  Inside of it were two additional trunks.  One contained his personal items, the other his books.  All of the books being donated undertook a careful inspection and vetting process months ago by experts who came to the Manor.  The wizard and witch team spent a week in England, staying in Manor guest rooms, rarely seen outside of the library there.  Now, it was just a matter of formality in presenting the books.  Their turn came up, and both held on to the rectangular piece of wood as they were pulled away.

The witch who welcomed them to Washington D.C. executed the typical Americanism of “Hi!  How are you?” with a cheery voice.  Hermione ruminated on this little oddity.  Americans asked this question without much thought, and basically expected a response of, “Fine, thank you.  How are you?”  The little dance then called for the first person to reply, “Excellent!  Well, have a nice day!”  A few years ago, Hermione began a test, whereas, she chose to not answer as expected.  What happened next was completely _unexpected_ for a British citizen.  When Hermione gave a truthful response along the lines of “It’s been a long week.  I’m knackered,” she received commiseration.  If she said, “I’m having a shite day”, the inquirer tended to offer sympathy, usually without prying.  And on the occasions when Hermione voiced a particular complaint, they tried to make it better.  Americans with their sincerity in caring about complete strangers was _so weird_.  Draco was obviously familiar with the social conventions, as he answered, “We’re well, thank you.  How has your day been so far?” while depositing the used portkey in the basket provided.

* * *

He apparated them into the lobby of the hotel, having stayed there before on business.  Hermione grew up wondering if all wizard accommodations were as dismal as The Leaky Cauldron’s.  It wasn’t until she began her Masterships in Charms and Transfiguration after Hogwarts when she happily discovered the inaccuracy of her assumption.  The beautiful little boutique hotel in Rome situated a block from her flat during the year she lived there opened her eyes to the possibilities of magical accommodations.  And the Renaissance-era hotel, originally built as a private residence, on the La Rue Magique in Paris became a favorite upon her first visit.  Yet, neither could hold a candle to the lobby she now stood in.

In older European cities, the magical areas were often built haphazardly.  When the ICW first signed the Statute of Secrecy, the wizarding world suddenly needed to go underground in pre-existing cities.  They used alleys and streets already containing wizard residences or businesses mixed in with Muggle, and basically forced the Muggles out.  Most accounts were murky on how the Muggles were moved, and what, if any, compensation they were given.  Mass obliviations were common place.  Once the districts were established, they became hemmed in quickly, with existing structures undergoing conversions to meet changing needs.  The few new structures constructed often ended up very strangely-shaped in order to find room.

Magical Washington D.C. began construction congruent with Muggle (or No-Maj, as the Americans preferred) Washington D.C.  The benefits of purposeful city planning were evident.  Hermione was looking forward to exploring everything she had only read about.  For now, she was just in awe of the lobby.  The atrium boasted a domed stained glass ceiling three stories above them.  The brightly colored glass shifted patterns every few minutes.  The scenes varied between a herd of centaurs under a star-filled night sky, two male Chinese Fireballs fighting for dominance in flight with a female watching off to the side, a nymph bathing in a sun-dappled forest pool, along with others Hermione didn’t catch.  Draco pointed out the pair of floos with a list of restaurants next to the fireplace labeled ‘exit’, complete with menus.

“The concierge also is able to recommend shops based upon whatever you are looking for.  Every single wizard business in D.C. has both an entrance and exit floo built in,” Draco told her as they walked to the front desk.  “After we check in, we’ll floo somewhere for lunch, then wander around the streets.  It’s probably chilly out, but at least it isn’t snowing.”

“Welcome back, Mr. Malfoy,” the wizard at the desk recognized Draco as they stepped up.  “We have your room ready – the presidential suite you requested.  Will you be requiring anything immediately?”

“Yes, can you please have the concierge make a reservation for a table for two at _The Southern Belle_ for 30 minutes from now?” Draco inquired.

“Of course.  I will have her call up to the room with confirmation.  Here are your room cards.”  Hermione was impressed to find the establishment was up-to-date with the Muggle practice of using disposable cards, albeit with charms set on them rather than a magnetic strip.

Draco glanced at Hermione and noted the way she curiously stared at the card, quickly analyzing the charm on it, most likely jealous of the witch or wizard who thought of the idea before her.  One of the things which attracted Draco to Hermione in the first place was her business acumen.  Draco’s combined business ventures, under the parent company of Malfoy Inc., dwarfed most wizard-run companies in the world.  But, Hermione’s charms-based powerhouse swiftly grew to one of the top five companies in Britain.  She rivaled only George Weasley for patents filed every year.

Hermione had yet to let Draco watch her while working, but Salazar, he itched to do it.  She claimed no one was allowed in the inner sanctuary within her offices while she invented and tested new charms, but George was known to be invited in upon occasion.  Granted, those instances were specifically for collaborations between their two companies, which rarely took place.  The knowledge did little to ease Draco’s jealousy.  Hermione offered a balm for his wounded pride in the form of watching her employees test before-market charms either of her making after the initial phase, or of their own making during presentations.  He hadn’t blinked when she handed him a magically binding non-disclosure agreement to sign first.  The next morning, he sent her the same form for his company and invited her to visit his Potions lab.

“What’s _The Southern Belle_?” Hermione asked, giving up her study of the room card.

“The cuisine is from the Southern United States.  You’ll love it,” Draco explained as they walked towards the lift.

When they entered the lift, Hermione was confused to see only one button on the wall, marked ‘lobby’.  Below the button was a slot; Draco slid the room card into it and the doors shut.  The movement felt was minimum, and over before Hermione had much time to think.  The doors slid open to reveal the reception area of their suite.

“This is some impressive magic!” she gushed.  “It’s the same for every room, right?  Are there any hallways at all?  How does the staff move things about and clean the rooms?”  Draco cut her off before she could rattle off any more questions.

“Yes, it is the same for every room.  I have no idea how the hotel staff operates,” he stopped before revealing he really didn’t care how staff accomplished their duties, as long as it didn’t affect him.  Seriously, did his witch ever draw the line at needing to know too much?  And no, it didn’t escape his inner monologue that mere minutes ago he had been silently appreciating her sense of curiosity.

Hermione heard the small note of exasperation in Draco’s voice and rolled her eyes.  Times like these reminded her that her boyfriend was basically a prince (or a ponce, depending on your point of view), born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and the magic of _how_ “servants” waited on you was beneath his notice.

Draco moved into the office, set down his trunk on the floor, and returned it to full size.  Hermione stood behind it as he opened it to check on the contents.  She let out a little sigh of longing.  Draco hadn’t dared to invite her to the Manor yet, so this was the first small taste for her of his vast library there.  He planned to offer her the opportunity at the end of the weekend.  The contents of this chest would serve as an enticement.  Hermione ran the tip of a finger along the spine of one book.

“You can fondle the books to your heart’s content later tonight.  Or me.  Your call.  Let’s get ready for lunch.”  He waited a beat to see if he would need to forcibly drag her away from the ancient and rare tomes.

* * *

They floo’ed into the restaurant and were shown to a table next to a window overlooking the street.  There were plenty of people walking about on a sunny afternoon, in spite of the chill.  It would be tea time back home, so Hermione was feeling a bit knackered.  She perused the menu and realized there were many items she did not recognize.

“Maybe you should order for the both of us?  We could share,” she suggested.

The first time Hermione tried to share food with him off her plate with the obvious expectation that he would return the favor, well, his reaction could best be described as bewilderment.  Who would even do that?  Hermione, of course.  He discovered it was not necessarily a Muggle thing to trade food at restaurants, just a thing some people did, and she was one of them.  Luckily, she possessed impeccable table manners otherwise, so he overlooked this faux pas.  And now he had come to enjoy the intimacy of it.  Did he sometimes also take advantage of the knowledge that he could eat half of her plate if he chose?  Maybe.

Nothing prepared Hermione for their appetizer of delectable little fried cakes made out of grits (something she had never heard of before today), shrimp, cheese, jalapenos, and a variety of spices.  They were slightly crisp on the outside due to being fried, but creamy and full of flavor on the inside.  There were four on the plate and when Draco went to have a second one, she nearly stabbed his hand with her fork.

“Hands off, buddy.  I’m eating that,” she said, while quickly moving it to her side of the table.

“Should I even tell you how many calories are in that little delight?”

“Nice try.  I don’t care, because shrimp and grits is my new favorite thing,” she smirked.

“Mmmm…” Hermione moaned with an evil grin on her face as she refused to share the last bite with him.

Hermione stared out the window, really noticing the nearby buildings for the first time, as she took a sip of her wine.  The street was straight and the buildings were all brick and rose with straight lines.  Most contained businesses on both the ground and second floors.  Some included apartments above the establishments.  Trees lined the sidewalks, their branches bare now, but they would offer sufficient shade when full of leaves for the benches interspersed among them.  Directly across from the restaurant was an apothecary; it was doing a brisk business.  To one side of it sat a stationary store, with a candle shop above it.  On the other side was antique and collectibles store – it took up two floors.  Hermione was curious to go in there.  Draco’s idea of stuffiness appeared to be Hermione’s idea of orderliness.

Hermione’s entrée included fried green tomatoes.  She’d eaten fried tomatoes with breakfast more times than she could remember, but these were decidedly different.  The British variety were simply naked red tomatoes cooked in the leftover sausage grease.  American fried green tomatoes were breaded, although these particular ones were done with a light hand.  She thought maybe there were only egg whites in the batter?  She detected a hint of cayenne and paprika.  A cool, creamy sauce drizzled atop proved the perfect accompaniment.

“Yum,” Hermione hummed.

“You haven’t even gotten to mine yet.  Just wait,” Draco pushed his bowl towards her, inviting her to take a taste.

“Oh sweet Circe!”  She took a second bit just to confirm the first bite wasn’t a hallucination.  Draco’s seeker reflexes had the bowl back in front of him in a heartbeat.  He wrapped a protective arm around it to shield it from her as he brought another bite to his mouth.  He considered the fact his behavior was bordering on uncouth.

“I thought we were sharing,” Hermione said petulantly.  Crawfish Etouffee was her new favorite thing.  Never mind she had already thought the same thing about shrimp and grits and fried green tomatoes within the past few minutes. 

Draco ordered Strawberry Shortcake for dessert.  The slightly sweet biscuits with the shortcake were so light and fluffy, Hermione wondered if they were infused with a modified feather-light charm while baking.

“I am a huge fan of American Southern food!” Hermione declared in a giddy voice as they exited the restaurant.  Draco chuckled at her exuberance.  He linked her arm with his as they strolled down the street.

* * *

Hermione dragged Draco into more stores than he would normally go to in a single day.  The bookstore was a given; she purchased three books on the magical practices of Native Americans.  She came across peony scented card-stock at the stationary store and handed it to Draco thinking he would like to purchase it for his mother.  The scent was set with a stasis charm, so it would not wear down over time.  They both found items in the antique store to purchase.  At the Quidditch shop, Hermione bought United States National Team jerseys for Ron and Harry.  She collected jerseys on all of her travels for them.  Strangely enough, they reciprocated with snow globes for her.  Draco’s favorite was one Harry picked up in Amsterdam with three people smoking joints in it and charmed smoke that swirled around when shook up, instead of snow.

She found a thrift store which sold second hand clothing.  Draco didn’t care how many times she used the word “vintage” – the idea of wearing other people’s old cast-offs disgusted him.  He spent the majority of time they were in the shop sporting a sneer.

“Stop looking like you expect doxies to jump out at you from the coat rack,” she hissed at him in embarrassment.

“It’s difficult to do that when I’m sure it’s _exactly_ what is going to happen,” he hissed back, being careful to ensure even the cuffs of his cloak didn’t brush against a single thread of what hung around him.

“You are such a spoiled brat,” she told him.

“Of course I am.  That will never change.  Can we please leave before I get fleas?”

“Stop being such a toddler.  I want to try on a few things,” she said, pulling two dresses from a rack.

“No!  You can’t!  I won’t be able to touch you afterwards until you shower and Scourgify everything you have on.  Ugh.  Who am I kidding?  I am going to have to Scourgify everything I have on anyway.”

“Are you fucking serious, Draco?”

Of course he was.

Undeterred, she grabbed her wizard’s hand and dragged him towards the dressing rooms.  She stationed him in a chair outside, with the command to wait.  The first dress was from the flapper era and made entirely of a see-through fabric with beads sewn.  When she came out of the dressing room to show it off to Draco he asked, “Are you naked underneath the dress?”  She nodded.  “Too bad the beads are covering the best bits,” he sighed.  “Watch this,” she said in a sultry voice.  Draco watched his curly-haired witch execute a slightly clumsy pirouette.  The skirt flared out as she went around.  When she faced him again the beading on the bodice had moved to allow him a view of her nipples.  She watched his eyes widen.  She spun around again and saw the lust in his eyes when he caught sight of her trimmed pubic hair.

“Maybe vintage isn’t all bad,” he said in a husky voice.  Draco tried to follow her into the dressing room, the bulge forming in his pants pulling him to her like a magnet.  She laughingly pushed him out.  He willed his half-hard cock to stop thinking about forcing his way back in.

She bought the dress, plus another, with a promise to him to model the peek-a-boo one again later.  He also made her promise to Scourgify it first.  And shower.  She’d allowed it to touch her naked skin, after all.

* * *

Dinner that night was on the roof top of the hotel; Draco had made the reservations at booking.  Draco suggested forgoing what would have been afternoon tea time locally and instead to eat a slightly early dinner than they would have at home to adjust to the time difference.  They were not the only ones dining up there, but the tables were few and placed far apart, so only a faint murmur carried to them.  A plethora of warming charms were placed around the area, allowing for comfortable al fresco dining on a winter night when the temperature fell below freezing level.  There was a dance floor off to the side and a small string band struck up just as dessert was being served.

They danced under the stars and Hermione was ready to swoon with the romance of it all.  She reminded herself this part wasn’t even the real “date”.  That would come tomorrow at the library.  Which reminded her…

“What will the presentation be like tomorrow?” she asked as they swayed together gently.

“There will be about 25 witches and wizards there, I would guess.  That’s the usual size of these things.  The director of the library will be on hand, along with their board of trustees.  The two staff members who came to England are a part of the official presentation, they will receive the trunk on behalf of the facility.  Then, there will be a handful of other top donators who are invited to these events whenever they occur.  Maybe a dignitary or two.  There will be hors d’oeuvres and cocktails, then a tour will be offered.  I expect there will be a private photographer present the entire time to document the event.”  He dipped her with a sexy smirk as the song ended.

* * *

Draco made deal with Hermione.  She could fondle and otherwise use his books to her hearts content, if she did it while wearing the _used_ dress he would never admit he fancied.  She sighed in delight as her fingers ran all over the spines of the tomes in the chest, taking delight in the magic she could feel radiating from them.

“Twirl, kitten,” he told her from the large leather chair he lounged in nearby, glass of scotch in hand.

He watched the way her nipples pebbled when they became visible to his gaze.  Her lips parted seductively as she pulled the oldest book from the group and opened it reverently.  She had cast a protective charm over her hands before they began so no dirt or oil would be transferred.  He heard a small breathy moan escape from between her lips as she turned the pages and soaked in the ancient knowledge.  It was his cock’s favorite sound.  Well, one of them at least.  It also responded to mewls, groans, panting, the word yes, purrs, expletives, certain noises of a wet nature, and his name being shouted.  Ok, let’s face it, Draco’s dick didn’t discriminate.

Hermione picked up her wand to try out something she read.

“Practicing spells will require another twirl, love,” a husky voice interrupted her casting.  She looked up to see Draco feigning nonchalance.  Her inner lioness purred when she noticed his hooded eyes and the slight tightening of his trousers.  He wasn’t fully hard yet, but he was getting there.  She twirled and went back to the spell.  She heard, rather than saw, him take a rather large swallow from his tumbler.  She tried out two more spells in the book before she replaced it to pick up a rather rare book she knew would most likely be the prized one of the bunch for the library.

“Hmmm…  You want to look through another book?  You did clean that dress, correct?”  At her nod, he continued with, “I want to test out a theory on friction.  Come here, kitten.”  He beckoned her to him with a curled finger.  Using a combination of his mouth and fingers on her nipples, he worked them through the fabric of the dress until she said, “Please,” in a small voice.  His now completely hard length twitched a reminder at him that it also enjoyed hearing their witch beg.  He allowed her to step back to the books.

She went to grab a notebook and pen from her bag to take notes or copy down text she found interesting.  He chuckled because the reason he agreed to donate this particularly rare book was due to the fact he discovered two copies of it in his library.  He would be happy to lend the copy he retained to her whenever she wanted.  She didn’t need to know this information now though.

“Tsk, tsk.  That will cost you, pet.  I think it is time for your _secondhand garment_ to come off.”  He watched as her pupils dilated at his command.  She slowly slid down the hidden side zipper and then shimmied out of, sending it via spell to hang in the closet in the bedroom.  She stood unabashedly before him in nothing at all, while she copied down numerous pages quickly via a spell.

The minx dared to give him a sultry look as she asked, “What will it cost me to read one more book?”

He stood up and let the tent in his trousers show the price.  Hermione’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she sauntered over and went to work on his belt and then the clasp and zipper on his slacks.

The night proceeded until Hermione had a chance to delve into each book she desired, while Draco also found many opportunities to satiate his desires.

* * *

Before walking outside the next moring, Hermione stopped to look over the posted menus to help decide on lunch.  She was intrigued by the Southwestern one.  Draco asked the concierge to set up a reservation for lunch today and another for Sunday brunch at 10:30 at the Northwoods Supper Club.

“I have a bad habit of eating my way through trips,” Draco confessed.

“Have you really not noticed I’m doing the same thing?” Hermione asked.

“Are you daft woman?  I have no idea what you are talking about,” Draco said, lacing his fingers through hers and pulling her outside.  She rolled her eyes at him.

Washington D.C.’s joke shop was a total dud.  The products were dull and the two Brits were part of mere handful of customers on a late Saturday morning.  WWW would be packed at this point.  Hermione would tell George if he ever considered expanding to The States, Washington D.C. was not the place to do it.

“Did you notice the only good gag in the place seemed to be a blatant copy of Weasley’s Headless Hat?” Draco commented as they exited without purchasing anything.  “And everything else was shite I used to buy at Zonkos as a third year.”

Lunch served as a reaffirmation that this city definitely got some things right.  The food was fantastic.

“Green chile is my new favorite thing!” Hermione enthused as they continued their explorations.

* * *

Soon enough it was time for the main event.  Hermione decided to wear the second dress purchased yesterday rather than the one she’d brought along from home.  It wasn’t a magical dress, which meant some other witches probably disregarded it.  Hermione couldn’t believe her luck in acquiring a vintage Dior cocktail dress from the 1950’s in perfect condition.  Typical of the times, it hugged her tightly on top, accentuating her bust.  There was a wide belt at the waist, and then a flared skirt with plenty of tulle underneath, causing it to flare out before ending above her knees.  The dress was white; the top portion was heavily covered with clear crystals in varying sizes.  The belt contained the same crystals in a zigzag pattern.  The skirt’s crystal coverage slowly tapered off towards the hemline.  The skirt reminded her of heavy snowfall, the flakes melting as they neared the warm ground.

When she walked out into the main room, where Draco had lounged, waiting for the past half hour, she found him reading one of the books he’d purchased here – _A Guide to Indigenous Potions Ingredients of the Northwestern United States and Canada._   She felt a bit foolish at how turned on it made her to see her perfectly groomed boyfriend in black wool slacks and a forest green cashmere jumper, reading a book.  A book she wanted to read when he finished, none-the-less.  Circe, how could someone so sexy even exist?  And he loved _her_.

Draco glanced up, thinking he’d use the cliché of “See something you like?” – but the words got stuck in his throat.  His first thought was that he wondered how crow tasted, because he may be forced to eat it after seeing her in the _vintage_ dress.  “You look gorgeous,” he admitted softly.  “I don’t think I’ve seen your hair up like this before.”

“I took some inspiration from Audrey Hepburn in _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_.  Figured it would go well with the dress.  Even transfigured this little tiara out of a bracelet,” her hand nervously fluttering near her up-do, wondering if she’d gone a little too thematic, “And, judging by your blank look, you’ve never seen _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ ,” she surmised.  He shook his head.

“You look pretty handsome yourself,” she told him a bit belatedly.

He knew he looked good, but it was in a very calculated way.  Hermione looked beautiful in her artless way; she could be so unpredictable, doing what she wanted without a care of what others may think.  And she pulled it off with aplomb.

When they reached the lobby, Hermione paused at the concierge desk, where a wizard stood.  “We’d like to be able to watch a movie when we return.  I didn’t notice a tele in our room.”

“No, ma’am.  Our manager said we may start offering it soon, but the company who charms the tv’s and dvd players to be magic compatible is out of England and the hotel owner is on some sort of wait list with them.  Sorry for the inconvenience,” he told her sincerely.

“Would it be possible for you to procure a television and dvd player for us and have them waiting in the room?  We’ll also need a copy of _Breakfast at Tiffany’s,_ if you can find one?” Hermione asked with a hint of a smile and a twinkle in her brown eyes.  Draco loved a good show and there was an excellent one unfolding in front of him.

“Ma’am, I can do that, but I don’t understand what your plan is.  I can send up one of the spare charmed portable outlets we have available for charging charmed cell phones, but even with power, the tv won’t work.  In fact, you take the risk of it exploding on you,” the poor bastard was toeing the line of professionally letting a customer know they were stupid.

“Is your manager in?” she asked, ignoring everything he’d just said.

“Yes, ma’am.  He’s always here on the weekends until about eight,” he said with a practiced blank look.  Draco was impressed.  No eye rolls or sighs, and definitely no sign of discomfort from the concierge.  This was another reason Draco liked this hotel - excellent staff was hard to come by.

“No need to get him now, we have an appointment.  Here’s my card,” she pulled a business card out of her clutch and slid it to him.  “I would be willing to negotiate the cost of my services in order to leave the tele and dvd player behind after our departure in return for your services this evening.  Please do send an outlet up, as Mr. Malfoy and I are currently charging our mobiles with the one I carry in my purse,” she finished by pulling the very outlet in question, with two mobile phones attached to it, out of the seemingly endless purse to show him. 

The wizard glanced down at the electronics, then the business card, and then looked back up, eyes widening in awe.  Even the best training couldn’t hide the mix of embarrassment and excitement flitting over his features.  His lapse didn’t last long as he said, “Of course, Miss Granger.  I know he would extremely interested in talking with you upon your check-out tomorrow.  I will get right on acquiring the tv, dvd player, and movie you requested.  Can I get you anything else?  Perhaps popcorn or ice cream to go with your movie?”  Now the bloke was just fawning.

As they walked away, Draco noticed a smidgeon of swagger in his witch’s step.  She’d had a bit too much fun with that one.  He smirked at her, “Had to pull the outlet out, with the brand new iPhones plugged in to it, didn’t you?  The ones no one else has charmed yet.  Don’t get me wrong, it was a nice touch.”  He’d been watching this powerhouse next to him show off her magical prowess for nearly 20 years, some things really didn’t ever change.  Well, except for he really enjoyed watching her show off these days, as compared to his feelings on it back at school.

* * *

“Stop staring at me like that,” she said in an undertone.

“Staring at you like what?” he asked.

“Like you expect me to have a spontaneous orgasm any moment now due to my proximity to so many books,” she hissed in his ear.

Draco snorted, earning a couple of questioning looks from the people nearest them.  “Your Amortentia did smell like parchment,” he murmured.  She took in the scent of his cologne, realizing she also had a strong visceral reaction to the mix of bergamot, vanilla, and sandalwood, for which he assuredly paid a hefty sum.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy, our guest of honor this evening.  We are so excited to be hosting this event in appreciation of your generosity,” a wizard exclaimed with a wide smile on his face, walking up with his hand held out.

Draco took the elder wizard’s hand in his and gave a firm shake.  He turned to his girlfriend, “Hermione, may I introduce you to the library’s director, Thomas Andrews.  Director Andrews, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Miss Hermione Granger.”

The other wizard’s smile grew impossibly wider, “ _The_ Hermione Granger?  Oh, this is a pleasure indeed!”

Hermione was pleasantly surprised at the immediate recognition and obvious delight from the American Wizard.  Was it for her war heroine status or for her current endeavors?  Turns out it was a mix of both.

“Well, you know, living in our nation’s capital, many here keep abreast of current world events.  Nasty business, everything that happened with Voldemort.  We Americans love nothing so much as a good revolutionary.  And you know, I can tell you, I wasn’t the only one of my friends shocked when you, one of our current favorite revolutionaries, didn’t chose to go into government work.  My wife lamented when you didn’t lead a fiery crusade, like Jeanne d’Arc.  When your name started to come up in scholarly journals, authoring trail-blazing ideas, well, I became even more if a fan,” the man was seriously gushing.  He wasn’t at all quiet about it, and soon all of the people present had gathered to listen.  Since there were less than a ten, it didn’t feel claustrophobic.

The witch whom Draco remembered from her visit to his English Manor unobtrusively came up and took him aside to relieve him of the trunk full of books he’d been holding for quite some time, putting it on a table near a podium.  She began the task of unpacking it for him, occasionally asking his opinion on the placement of each book being displayed.  Hermione’s name was being murmured around him, everyone excited at the unexpected surprise of her attendance.  Draco was used to being the center of attention.  His natural inclination was to insinuate himself back at his witch’s side, taking the spotlight back upon himself.  In the past, witches he dated were there to make him look good.  Being in an equal partnership was a novel idea.

He continued to watch Hermione be the center of attention.  Director Andrews introduced her to each other attendee in turn.  There wasn’t a one who didn’t know of her.  She’d grown into an accomplished conversationalist, naturally finding topics of shared interest.  Draco’s existence was soon remembered, when Hermione glanced back towards him with a radiant smile, putting her hand out ever so slightly, looking for him to step into her personal space.  He came up to her side with his own genuine smile, taking her hand.  She then introduced him to each person in the room, doing the amazing feat of remembering every name.

Together, they continued to chat with various witches and wizards, even as more people arrived.  Hermione liked seeing Draco’s real smile.  So often his expressions were more on the scale of sardonic.  She’d momentarily been nervous about his reaction to the group’s response to her presence.  That thought fled when she turned to find him staring at her with pride.  He’d then come up to stand beside her, acting like this night shouldn’t have been all about him.  He liked that it was about _them._

* * *

The ceremony was nice, but slightly forgettable in Hermione’s opinion.  She’d paid attention for Draco’s sake, although the lure of the books around her was like a siren’s call.  Over martinis and finger foods, she’d found herself discussing possible uses of electricity in the library with three members of the board of trustees, Director Andrews, and the two other library employees present.  They all agreed the first installment should be electric lights.  She pulled out her phone to set an appointment for a teleconference the following week.  Draco kept his face impassive when he saw more than one look of envy pass over the faces of these extremely wealthy, influential people upon the sight of the latest model iPhone, charms in place to be used in magical premises.  It was with great internal glee, none of which showed on the outside, that he asked her for his phone, not caring if it looked emasculating to have it carried in her purse, slipping it into his own pocket after a cursory glance at the screen.

Draco moved amongst the crowd, answering questions about the books he was gifting, along with the ones being lent.  He found himself describing the Manor’s library.  He was pleasantly surprised when one patron pulled him aside to discuss an article Draco had penned two years ago for an alchemical journal.  It was the sole time the blonde-haired wizard had been published for his own original academic research.  He enjoyed alchemy as a hobby, one he did not have enough free time to pursue as he wished.

Draco snickered at the way he could see Hermione’s impatience grow when the evening didn’t move to the final phase fast enough for her liking.  She was itching to be allowed into the stacks, the research rooms, the very depths of the building.  Finally, those who wished to take a tour were being welcomed to do so.  The crowd dropped by half when the food and booze were taken away.  Typical.

Hermione was a little miffed so many people left just when things were really going to get good.  Where was their respect?  The written word, and the wonders of discovering it, deserved reverence.  If Hermione could ever be considered a religious person, then a library would be her place of worship.  The early departures tonight were like the mass-goers who snuck out after receiving communion, not understanding the importance of the final prayer.

She would be leaving tonight with the painful knowledge that _there just wasn’t enough time._   But, she made the best of it.  She practically jogged from section to section, looking for certain books she had only heard about through reading other references to them. 

She was ecstatic to be allowed to look through a one-of-a-kind book from the early 1600’s showing painstakingly created, full color sketches of a Samhain Ball in London.  The costumes worn were drawn, page upon page, in full detail, the decorations were recreated across many pages as well.  Even the ghosts present at the event were drawn in amongst the living.  And it all moved!  She watched a rendition of an allemande on page, and then turning the page, found a minuet on the next.  She was vastly amused to notice an amorous couple sneaking out onto a balcony in the background of a scene, the man stealing kissing as the woman giggled.

Draco was impressed the with the experimental potions labs available on a suburban level.  Those wishing to research, using recipes from books housed within the library, needed to sign waivers, but were encouraged to test as much as they wanted onsite.  There were cauldrons made of pewter, bronze, iron, and gold.  Stirring rods were typically glass, as it was non-reactive with most ingredients.  This lab offered bronze and even wooden rods so as to allow for recreation of period-correct environments. 

The same went for using charms on premise.  There were separate practice rooms.  The general idea was a sharing of knowledge – the public gained from each other’s successes and failures being noted within these walls.  Hermione, or course, could not resist grabbing a book and using one of the testing rooms.  She picked up a cup and a pillow.  She transfigured the cup into a rat.  She transfigured the pillow into a terrier.  She then tried out a charm from an old hunting book that could be cast upon a dog to immediately teach it to find and kill rats, no training necessary.  Bloody useful during the times of plague.  The rat didn’t stand a chance.

Ancient scrolls of parchment and velum were kept in dimly lit rooms with heavy stasis charms in place.  There were even ancient clay tablets in still another room.

The employee research facilities were top-notch.  There were two curse-breakers kept on staff.  Translators of many modern languages, as well as experts in dead languages, were needed for this type of facility to insure no one would mispronounce a spoken word from a text.  The results could be catastrophic.  And just as at Hogwarts, there was a “restricted” section to this library.  The books would be freely available for perusal, but were kept secure until needed.  A patron could present themselves to the librarian posted to care for these titles and be allowed one book at a time, to be read in a managed environment.  Director Andrews noted that occasionally accidents still happened.  The most common was hexes being enacted by books with spells placed on them which determined whether the reader was worthy of the knowledge within.  It seemed some wizards and witches would overestimate their self-worth.

They went back to the main level and one trustee asked if Hermione would like to hold a book which once belonged to Morgana herself.  In many cases, the library owned more than one copy of an item, in fact, it was their mission to acquire at least two copies, whenever possible.  However, if only one copy could be procured, then it did not matter the provenance, it was still made available to the public.  The book felt warm in her hands, even before she opened it.  When she turned to the first page, a glow emitted from it.  It was the happiest little book she had ever held.

Hermione said good-bye to the handful of people left at the end of the evening.  She was really looking forward to her call the next week with the board of the library.  She planned to be very hands on with this project.  It would be a great excuse to return and explore the building more.

* * *

When the returned to their room that night, everything they had asked for was in place.  Hermione set the charms upon the tele and dvd player and hooked them up after she and Draco changed into pajamas.  They snuggled up together on the sofa under a blanket and enjoyed the hot, buttery popcorn and cold, creamy ice cream, kept under stasis charms. 

Draco didn’t really understand the appeal of _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_.  Something was lost in translation between the fact that the piece took place in 1958 Muggle New York City and Draco’s only life exposure up until after his 8 th year at Hogwarts had been Wizarding Europe.  He’d been 20 the first time he travelled further than the continent, to Japan.  Magical Japan, of course.  He’d seen Magical Tokyo before he’d seen Muggle London.

Hermione knew Draco was humoring her by watching the movie, but she couldn’t get past how much she loved Audrey Hepburn.  Pretending to be her for a night felt fun.  She sighed as she licked mint chocolate chip ice cream from a spoon.  Draco dozed off before the movie ended.  She woke him up to move to bed.

* * *

The next morning, the two packed up, placing Draco’s trunk into Hermione’s bag so they could easily check out before leaving for brunch.  They met with the manager at the front desk and came to an agreement to rebate the cost of their stay versus the cost of Hermione’s services.  One charmed tele and dvd player was in no way equal to their bill, but it took a bit off.  She also agreed to check on the hotel’s spot on her waiting list when she returned to the office tomorrow.  She told the manager she hoped to see him again soon, as she may have work coming up in the city.

“Well, what did you think of the experience?” Draco asked over Bloody Marys at brunch.

“The revolutionary in me wants to shake my fist and yell “pay for play!”, but it’s easy to push that voice away when I remember the books,” she sighed in a dreamy tone, tossing an olive in her mouth.

“I’m not going to disagree with you on the backroom deals that can come out of these things.  It’s difficult to when you kind of did one while there,” he reminded her with a raised eyebrow.

She waved her hand dismissively, “Doesn’t count.  I’ve a monopoly on the field.  They would have come to me eventually anyway.”

“Really, that’s how you see it?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said while taking a dainty sip of her drink.  It was very spicy, just the way she liked it.

“Interesting,” he drawled.

“What?”

“Your moral expediency.  It still surprises me at times,” he said in an admiring tone.

She preened under the compliment.  Not at his insinuation of her loose morals.  At the fact she could surprise him and he enjoyed it.

“All right, how does this particular American institution work?” she asked, eyeing the giant buffet. 

They’d consumed a total of three Bloody Marys each by the time they finished gorging themselves, and they were _strong_.

“Ministry of Magic.  Ministry of Magic.  Ministry of Magic.”

“What are you doing, Hermione?”

“Making sure I’m still good to floo.”


	4. Baby, It's Cold Outside

What the fuck was Draco wearing?  Why the hell did Hermione allow him to go to Cotswold Outdoor alone?  Draco pretty much had two truisms in life – “more is better” and “the most expensive is always the best”.  Well, and “Malfoys always get what they want”.  Which she pointed out plainly wasn’t a truism, because once upon a time the Malfoys hoped for the Dark Lord to win.  To which Draco replied, “What my father really wanted was power; Voldemort was simply a means to an end.”  Semantics.  But, seriously, what was Draco wearing?

Wait, maybe a modeling scout discovered Draco while shopping and signed him to a contract with North Face to wear their product line?  She congratulated herself for hitting the nail on the head.  Any other explanation beyond that as to why it appeared he was currently wearing £10,000 worth of their clothing and accessories was unfathomable.  At this point, Hermione was willing to bet he was even wearing North Face underwear.

“I think you misunderstood.  We aren’t scaling Mount Everest.”

“I know that.  Do you see a Sherpa behind me?”  Draco turned his head, looking behind his shoulder mockingly.

“Well, with the amount of gear you appear to be carrying in your backpack, I’m kind of surprised there isn’t one.”  Oh gods, he wasn’t thinking about bringing a disillusioned house elf along, was he?

“Isn’t there some kind of Muggle saying about always being prepared?”

“Only because Muggles can’t disapparate themselves out of situations.”

“Am I allowed to disapparate myself out of this _adventure_?” he asked scathingly.

Hermione didn’t really want to answer, because then she might have to concede a point to him.  Unfortunately, a non-answer was as good as an answer.

“That’s what I thought.”

Hermione sighed.  Could the man be any more smug?  Well, yes.  He could.  She sighed again, deciding it would be best to just ignore the fact that no one needed so much _stuff_ for an afternoon of ice fishing.

Hermione was very excited to take Draco ice fishing up in Scotland.  It wasn’t often a winter was cold enough for a lake to freeze over long and hard, so as to make the sport safe anywhere within the British Isles.  Hermione remembered her dad and his fishing buddies gossiping and trading information year after year, in search of a spot to go out on the ice.  Like all fishermen, they guarded their secrets carefully and maintained a network of people who were “in the know”.  There were many winters where an excursion never panned out.  It was like they found the Holy Grail on the years when it happened.

Hermione’s dad called her up a few days ago, excited to report he had just gotten back from a weekend trip up north, catching several good-sized fish while there.  Did she want to come to dinner to partake in his bounty?  Would Draco be joining her?

Somehow, dinner at her parents’ home with Draco turned into Hermione and Draco going ice fishing on the same lake her father and his cronies fished last weekend.  She borrowed her dad’s shack, auger, tip ups, and other assorted gear.  She had felt prepared until Draco appeared at her flat.  She looked down at herself, feeling a little worried about being judged inadequate.

Wait.  What?  Hermione squared her shoulders with the realization it would be her boyfriend who would be judged absurd by anyone on the lake actually taking the time to look at them.  Which probably wouldn’t happen anyway.

Hermione made a quick plan that night after finishing dinner at her mum and dad’s house.  If they were really going to do this as just a day trip, then the best idea would be to apparate into a spot in the woods surrounding the lake, emerging out on the lake from a walking trail, pretending to hiked in.  Hermione’s dad had invested in a collapsible, tent-like shelter a few years back - it was infinitely better than his old wooden shed which needed to be hauled in on a sled.  Now it really would be possible to hike in, carrying everything on their backs.  A pile of items sat waiting to put in Draco’s new backpack and then they could be on their way.

“Draco, you have six days’ worth of dehydrated food in your backpack.”

“No, I have three days’ worth of food for two people.  I wouldn’t leave you without food.”

“This is the biggest first-aid kit I have ever seen.”

“I know!  Isn’t it great?”

“Bigger isn’t always better.”

“I remember you singing a different tune last night.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him as she unpacked his backpack and then repacked it, leaving about half of the _crap_ it contained on the floor.

“You don’t have any water in here, where is your water?”

He unzipped more than one of the _multiple_ Gortex, fleece, moisture-wicking cotton, who-knows-why-he-needs-so-many layers, to finally get to hidden platypus containers strapped against his body.  There was water, and there was firewhiskey too, judging by the color of one of them.

“The man who helped me warned me about liquids freezing easily at low temperatures.  My body heat will make sure they don’t turn to ice.”

“Firewhiskey might go well with the thermos of hot chocolate I packed,” she diplomatically said.

After that, Hermione kept her mouth shut while she shifted items around and finished packing what Draco would carry.  Better to just get on the proverbial road.

* * *

The apparition idea worked perfectly; they landed just far enough away from the lake so the sound of their arrival wouldn’t be noticed and no one would accidentally spot them using magic.  They walked on the trail for less than five minutes before coming out of the trees at the edge of the lake.  There were three other shacks on the lake, but it was large enough for everyone to spread out.  Hermione didn’t know if any of them were her dad’s friends, back to try their luck for another weekend.  She did not plan on finding out.

She and Draco walked to a spot far enough away from the others where they couldn’t even hear them once they finished drilling their holes.  While setting everything up, Draco complained about the manual labor.  While drilling the holes, he complained he was too hot.  And as soon as 10 minutes went by without any fish taking a nibble at their bait, he complained of boredom.  At least he hadn’t started to complain about being cold.

“Tell me again what the point of this is?”

“The satisfaction of obtaining your own food.  The thrill of the hunt.  Practicing patience.  Communing with nature.  Just hanging out with your friends.”

“I have the means to obtain food that doesn’t entail sitting on ice.  There is nothing thrilling about this, nor are we really hunting.  Patience isn’t something I need to practice.  I am not a hippy.  However, I do like to hang out with you.”

“We are doing something ancient in nature, Draco.  We are practicing survival against the odds.”  Draco opened his mouth to say something, Hermione was pretty sure she could guess his line of thought, so she cut him off, pointing a finger at him, “No, don’t try to tell me that you and I have plenty of practice surviving against the odds.  That isn’t what I mean, and you know it.  I just want to be two people, enjoying the ability to sit and do something people were sitting doing ten thousand years ago.  There aren’t many opportunities in today’s world to do this.”

Draco thought about the little ways this witch in front of him wove pieces of herself into pieces of him without even knowing she was doing it.  How she was slowly changing him at his core.  Did she feel it?  Was he slowly changing her, too?  Was there still a defined place where he ended and she began?  Could he take those pieces back out if he needed to?  Did he even want to?  Should he say these thoughts out loud?  Did ice fishing require a certain type of tête-à-tête?  Ever since he professed his love to her a few weeks ago, he found himself becoming a sap.

“Care for a shot of firewhiskey?”  That seemed like an easier conversation.

“Want to try something a little more Muggle?  I have beer or I have peppermint schnapps to mix with the hot chocolate.”

“Why would we drink cold beer while sitting outside in the freezing cold?” he asked.

“I honestly don’t know, it’s what people do,” she shrugged.

“Were people doing it ten thousand years ago?”

“Just answer the question, Draco.”

“Sure, I’ll have a beer.”

And so, they drank beer and talked.

“…No, I don’t think she waxes in the shape of a lightning bolt for Harry…”

“…The most Slytherin thing a friend has done?  Besides me dating you?  Definitely Pansy rescuing Richard from that awful orphanage.  She took care producing a male Parkinson heir to stop her family name from dying out, and she circumvented her mother’s match-making in one fell swoop…  She is a surprisingly wonderful mum…”

Another beer opened.

“…The most Gryffindor thing I have done?  Besides riding a dragon up out of the bank I was robbing?  Starting my business when everyone expected me to take a ministry job.  There was a time when Harry was the only one who stood by me.  When everyone else was telling me I was squandering my fame on selfish pursuits rather than making changes for the betterment of other creatures, or that I should be using my skills gained during the war to work in the DMLE, Harry was the only one who asked me what my long game was.  It was so hard to keep on being doubted, after so many years of being disbelieved.  To choose the road less travelled once again…”

The second beer was finished quickly.

“…Theo had a crush on you for years.  Ever since you two swots were partnered up in both Arithmancy and Runes during fifth year.  He had a plan worked out to finally ask you out on the day you both took your apparition tests in sixth year.  He didn’t count on Ron taking the test that same day and he chickened out…”

A third beer.

“…Ugh, let’s not talk about Divination…”

“…I have an autographed Chocolate Frog card of you hidden in my desk.  I bought it off of some bloke in Diagon Alley…  How do you know it’s a fake if you haven’t even seen it?...  Well, then I will be the first person to ever have you sign one...”

“…Yes, I have kissed a girl and no, I am not telling you who.  It wasn’t even very good…”

“I think I have a bite!” Draco cut Hermione off.  It was probably the only thing able to stop him from exploring _that_ conversation further.

When they pulled up the line from the ice, there was a tiny fish on the hook.  “You have to let me keep it, it’s the first one I ever caught,” Draco declared imperiously.

“No, there are rules about what size you are allowed to keep,” Hermione was exacerbated.

“Please…” he whinged.  “You can’t deny me my first kill.  Can we take a picture?”

“Only if you want to be laughed at.”

“Hey, it isn’t moving.  Should it be moving?” Draco asked with some concern.

“Great, we argued about it long enough with the fish out of the water that we killed it.  Well, I guess we can use it as bait and hope for a bigger fish,” Hermione offered.  Draco still took a picture of it before he allowed her to lower it back down.

“I’m getting kind of cold.  Can we stop being martyrs and go inside that tent thingy and have some hot chocolate now?” Draco asked.

Hermione turned on the little heater inside the shelter.  She really wished she could have put an extension charm onto the tent, but there hadn’t been the time.  She picked up the tent yesterday, they were using it today, and she planned to return it tomorrow, so putting one on only to have to take it right back off seemed like too much work when there was plenty more to do with getting ready.  She could see Draco looking around with a touch of disdain. 

Hermione thought it was cozy and they had everything they would need for the next couple of hours.  They brought their two chairs in from outside and Hermione opened a small collapsible tripod table.  There were hooks on the walls so they could hang up some items.  She took off her outermost coat.  She glanced out the window to make sure it was easy to see their outdoor tip ups.  She had two holes in the corners in here too; she quickly baited the lines now that they would be spending time inside.

Hermione pulled out the thermos of soup and the sandwiches she had packed along with the hot chocolate and the schnapps.  She offered some of everything to Draco and he happily started to eat.  He took a sip of the drink and paused, exploring the unknown flavor.

“This isn’t bad, but it reminds me a bit of toothpaste with the mint taste.  And why would I want to swallow toothpaste?  I’ll have the next one with firewhiskey,” Draco let her know as he lowered enough zippers to get at his hidden pouches.  It was already getting warm enough inside that he didn’t zip any back up.  He also took off the outer coat and hung it up.

Draco was drinking his second hot chocolate, this one with the firewhiskey, when they started to talk about more than the mundane of “would you like another sandwich” and “please pass the soup” again.  “So, about that witch you kissed…” he started out not at all subtly.  Hermione threw her head back as she let out a loud laugh.

“I should have just lied and said no.  Is this a fantasy of yours?”

“Possibly,” he hedged.

“Have you ever seen two women kissing?”

“Possibly,” he answered slowly.

“Have you seen two women do more than kiss?”

“Possibly,” he offered up a third time.

“Were you involved in the “more than” part of that interaction?”

“Quite possibly,” he affirmed.

Hermione licked her lips.  She may not have really enjoyed kissing Ginny very much, but it probably had to do with their lack of experience in kissing more than anything else.  Which is exactly why they decided to kiss in the first place, to practice on each other before they started kissing boys.  But now, the thought of kissing Ginny with Draco watching, well, the thought was a bit of a turn on. 

Did Hermione realize her lips were parted and she was breathing a little bit faster as she stared at him?  Draco stared at her pink cheeks and didn’t think the sudden change in color had anything to do with the amount of alcohol they’d drank.  Although, it was definitely loosening Hermione up.  They were delving into uncharted territory here.

“Did you enjoy it?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Very much, but my girlfriend wasn’t good at _sharing_ , so it was just the once,” he said, his voice taking on a husky quality.

That gave Hermione pause.  Would she be good at sharing?  She would never say it out loud to anyone, but she’d fantasized about being in bed together with two different Weasley men over the years.  The realities of jealousy never factored into those daydreams.  How would the dynamics of a threesome work if it happened more than once?

Draco could practically see the wheels turning in Hermione’s head. Where was she going off to inside of there?  Only one way to find out, “What are you thinking?”

“As much as I might enjoy you watching me kiss another woman, I think I would have trouble with the jealousy, too, if we were all together in a threesome,” as it came out, she realized she had said more than she meant to.  And from the way Draco’s eyebrows immediately shot up, he knew it too.

Now her cheeks were definitely pink.  He couldn’t help but smirk at her as he innocently queried, “You want me to watch you with another woman?”  She pursed her lips and shook her head no.  “Do you just want me to watch you do _something_?”  She grabbed his firewhiskey and took a large gulp as she shook her head in the negative again.  She cocked her head to the side, silently waiting for him to continue with his guessing.  “Do you want someone to watch us?”

She opened her mouth, like she was going to answer, but then snapped it shut again.  Her face was red and the blush was spreading downwards along her neck to disappear beneath her shirt.  He figured he was close enough to the truth.  He took a big swig of his firewhiskey before he stood up and grabbed her hand to pull her up to him.  His erection wasn’t evident through the four layers covering it, but he could feel it pulsing.  Judging by her dilated pupils, she was feeling as turned on as him by this conversation.

He pulled her body tight against his, cursing the amount of clothing they were both wearing as he kissed her soundly.  He could taste the firewhiskey on her lips with a hint of chocolate left behind as he delved further into her mouth with his tongue.  He moaned at the delicious taste.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and her fingers from one hand were alternating between gently dragging the nails along the base of his skull and lightly tugging on his hair.  She groaned when he managed to untuck enough top layers to find some skin.

Suddenly, he whipped her around so her back was pressed against his front.  He leaned down to put his lips behind the shell of her ear, “Look out that window.  The people in the next shelter aren’t too far away.  Think I could make you scream loud enough so they would hear?  Would you make me stop when they started running this way?”  As he murmured these questions to her, one hand snaked up under her shirt and along her stomach until he cupped a breast.  The other hand managed to get down into her pants to start rubbing at her.

“Uuuggghhhh…” Hermione strangled out, knowing Draco could now feel her arousal as his fingers circled around her wet clit.  He tried to move his hand more, to get his fingers inside of her, but the amount of clothing was restrictive.  She pushed her arse back against the steel rod in his pants and he let out a moan.

“Do you want to get caught?  Do you want someone to see us?” he let out a frustrated sound as he couldn’t get the angle he wanted with his hand.  “You better not be too loud unless you want someone to come barging in right as you are coming,” he told her as he pulled his hand out of her pants and spun her around to face him once again.  He started to work on getting her pants down with the intent to use his tongue to draw the letters of his name across her clit over and over until she yelled it out loud.

“Draco, you have a bite!”

“What, you want me to bite you?”

“No, you have bite from a fish, you twit!”

Hermione noticed a flag up when Draco spun her back around; they had both previously missed it due to their backs being turned.  Draco quickly forgot what he planned for Hermione when her words made it through the fog of his lust and the alcohol.  He rushed over to the hole and started to work on reeling in his catch.

The fish was putting up a fight. “It’s much bigger than my first one!” he gleefully exclaimed.

“Do you need help?” she asked.

“No, I remember what you told me about the give and take.  I can do this,” he told her, just a hint of haughtiness in his voice.

Up through the ice came a huge brown trout.  Eyeballing it, Hermione would guess it weighed 4 or even 4.5kg.  Draco wore a look of awe on his face.  Until Hermione said,

“It’s a keeper!  Get it off the hook and we’ll lay it out on the ice until we’re ready to go.”

“You get it off the hook,” Draco seemed nervous now.  He was holding the line away from his body and eyeing the fish like it might attack him.  Hermione laughed.  Which was the wrong thing to do.  Draco’s nervousness was quickly covered by a nearly blank face with a small sneer and a cold tone, “This was your idea and if you want the fish off of the hook, you can bloody well do it.”

Hermione watched the change come over his face as he reverted back into his safe persona.  The one that had allowed him to _survive_ for so many years.  It was disconcerting for various reasons when he did it.  The foremost in her mind was that she was sure he wasn’t always consciously aware it happened.  Next was the stark reminder of their childhoods.  And then there was the niggling question of whether he would ever fully trust her with his emotions.  Alone in a tent with his girlfriend and a fish and he was scared to been seen as scared.  Admittedly, the trout did have teeth.

Hermione made the split second decision to go with some gentle goading to knock him out of it.  “What kind of fish story am I going to tell my dad about you being scared of a trout?”

“Oh, Draco wanted to take it off, but it was too slimy.”

“Well, I had to help Draco out because he didn’t like the way the fish stared at him.”

“’If you do doubt your courage or your strength, come no further, for death awaits you all with nasty, big, pointy teeth.’”

The last one was the one that did it.  Alluding to his fear of being bitten by something that wasn’t scary at all, something like a fluffy little bunny.  His sneer turned into a smirk and he deftly grabbed the fish under its gills and slid the hook out.  They walked outside, laid it near the door, and he looked at her with a triumphant grin on his face.  The sun was getting closer to the horizon and it occurred to Hermione that this was the magical hour photographers loved.  Draco glowed.


	5. Desert Dawn

They arrived in the Sahara Desert in the middle of the night.  It made sense that the International Portkey Office was open 24 hours; for the first time, Hermione found herself using it at 2:30 in the morning.  The day before, the dilemma arose regarding whether she should just try to stay up all night or take a nap.  Draco suggested a nap.  Hermione said she didn’t really feel tired.

He devised an excellent way to tire her out.  It started with her on the couch.  He wasn’t the least bit gentle with his teeth as he sucked and bit at her nipples, going back and forth between her breasts.  All while three fingers pumped relentlessly in and out of her, crooked just right to rub against the perfect spot inside of her.  Hermione was bucking her hips madly while her fingers dug into his shoulders.  Later on, she would recall strings of words, profanities, Draco’s name, and entreaties, leaving her lips, even though she couldn’t recall exactly what they were.  She reached over, trying to get a grip on his cock as he knelt beside the couch, driving her to insanity.  She managed to grab it and swipe her hand up and down a few times before he wiggled his hips away from her reach.  She had already orgasmed twice when she found it in her hand again and declared,

“Oh gods, you’re so hard.  I want your hard cock inside of me instead of your fingers.  Please, please Draco,” thinking her words, in conjunction with her hand, would get her what she desired.  Instead he stood up and walked away.  The curly-haired witch’s first thought was, ‘What the fuck just happened?’  Meanwhile, Draco decided to try something he had been thinking about for the past few weeks, ever since their ice fishing trip.

After telling her that he had been with two witches, he tried to imagine asking another witch to join them in bed.  The thing was, he couldn’t imagine wanting to take his attention off of Hermione.  He reflected back on how selfish he had been in his youth.  Sure, he liked to make sure anyone in his bed enjoyed herself.  Although in the end, his pleasure was always the most important factor.  With a start, he realized that wasn’t how he felt about Hermione.  Which led him to imagining a way to increase her pleasure.  It was an intriguing idea to contemplate another man helping him.

“Come here,” Draco commanded.  He was kneeling on the wood floor next to the couch, with a dildo he conjured up suctioned to the floor in front of him.  He said a lubricating charm onto it, while his hand was holding it by the base.  “You’re going to ride this while you suck me off.”  Hermione wasted no time in squatting over it and working her way down while she took something slightly bigger than Draco deep inside of her.  Draco helping to guide another cock into Hermione had him on the edge of release without being touched.  Precum dripped onto the floor as he watched the phallus disappear into her.  Once she was seated on it, he knelt up straight, she gripped the backs of his thighs for balance, and opened her mouth to pull his hard length deep into her throat.  He wanted to watch it all forever, the way she was bouncing up and down on _someone else_ , her mouth working him in time with her body’s motions, her eyes staring up at him…

Instead, he came nearly immediately, shouting something unintelligible.  She bobbed her head a few more times, making sure she swallowed every drop out of him.  When he pulled his softening member out of her mouth, she fell forward onto her hands and knees, disengaging herself from the toy on the floor.  Hermione had never felt so worked over in her life, she was shaking a bit and couldn’t help laughing as she said,

“I don’t think I can move.”

Draco was sprawled upon the couch, facing her with his head on one of the armrests.  “Now it’s my turn to be inside you, witch,” he beckoned her towards him, not caring how tired she thought she was.  She crawled across the floor and then up between his legs.  She drew his flaccid member into her mouth, willing it back to life.  She moved her mouth down to lick and suck at it.  “Use your teeth,” he moaned.  She moved her mouth further down and scraped her teeth against the skin as she pulled a bollock into her mouth, while her hand moved up and down his semi-hard shaft.  “Yes, just like that.  Don’t stop.” Hermione was kneeling with her arse up in the air and was feeling deliciously exposed.  She wished there was someone behind her, touching her.  The dual penetration earlier left her wanting more.

She continued in her endeavors until he stood fully engorged again.  “Get up,” Draco directed.  He turned to sit facing forward on the sofa and ordered, “Turn around and ride me backwards.”  She sat on his lap, taking him in with no resistance.  He slapped her arse roughly and demanded in a husky voice, “Touch yourself while you ride me fast and hard.”  He didn’t hit her arse on every down stroke; he varied the timing and the side to keep her on edge.  It was merely minutes before she was startled to find herself in the longest orgasm of her life.  There was an ebb and flow to it, but it didn’t seem to stop.  Sweat dripped down between her breasts and her hair was stuck to her back.  Draco’s upwards thrusts were coming harder, without any real rhythm.  They both panted.  And then his entire body went rigid as he whispered, “Hermione,” like her name was a prayer.

Yes, that all led to a nice four hour nap on the couch, because now she _really couldn’t move_ , before his wand sounded an alarm at 1:30.  They floo’ed to the Ministry, where they were handed a badly dented pewter goblet.  Moments later, they stood in the middle of nowhere; the night sky to the East ablaze with firelight.  Dragon fire.

* * *

Hermione had never been in a desert before.  Even now, when it was nearing the coolest hour of a day, she could still feel the remnants of heat radiating up from the sand under her.  The air around her smelled of dust and sulfur.  The portkey arrival/departure sight was under an open-side tent at the edge of a small oasis.  There were two platforms, one for each direction of travel and three employees working.  One wizard to check in departures and hand them their appropriately charmed object, one who was taking the used portkeys from the arrivals and reading through a list of future departures to recycle the items as needed using the Portus Charm, and a final witch with whom Draco began to converse as Hermione was assessing their surroundings. 

Hermione was wearing a vintage 1960’s royal purple sleeveless sundress with a square neck and a skirt falling just above her knees.  At Draco’s suggestion, she wore easily transfigurable shoes – trainers for walking around the sand, changed to kitten heels once in the grandstand.  And to top it all off, a fabulous hat.  The base of the hat comprised of three layers of sheer white material with purple feathers printed on it.  Each layer was created by stretching the material over a metal hoop measuring approximately a half meter in diameter, with the bases of the feathers all in the middle of the circle and the tips radiating out to the edges of the circles.  The three flat layers were loosely stacked on top of each other.  Coming out of the center of the hat was a full bouquet of feathers; there were ring-necked pheasant feathers, gyrfalcon feathers, wild turkey feathers, and Hermione’s favorite, snowy-owl feathers.  They were all wing feathers, some as long as a meter.  The feathers were all dyed various shades of purple and orange.  You could still see the natural striations of each feather through the dye, and with the different types of birds and mixed lengths, the overall effect was stunning.

* * *

Draco presented the credentials Astoria Greengrass owled him to the welcome witch, and she in turn gave him directions on where they would need to go.  Although Draco had come here before to watch races, the all-access passes he and Hermione would enjoy today were a first for him.  He was looking forward to spending a little bit of time behind the scenes both before and after the races.  Draco was the one to introduce Astoria to the sport of dragon racing.

As a student, Astoria’s favorite class at Hogwarts happened to be Care of Magical Creatures.  Astoria once told Draco she secretly started to admire Hermione Granger that infamous day when Draco found himself with a broken nose because of what he said about Hagrid.  Astoria’s parents raised her to be a perfect pureblood housewife.  Draco’s parents been raised him to believe he wanted, no needed, a perfect pureblood wife.  Thank Merlin they both realized in time it wasn’t what either of them wanted.

The first time they visited the desert together to watch dragons fly across the sky as the sun rose, Draco was trying to impress his new girlfriend.  In his typical smug manner, he showed off what money and influence could buy a wizard – the best seats at the only dragon races in the world.  These _legal_ races, just introduced the prior month, were the culmination of over three years of work within ICW to come to an agreement and iron out all of the little details after a proposal from an international group of investors.  The influential wizards and witches around them, the freely flowing champagne and firewhiskey, the caviar and foie gras and wagyu beef; Astoria ignored it all.  They could have been standing alone in the sand drinking tepid water and eating a chicken sandwich for all Astoria cared.  She stared at the dragons with her mouth agape the entire time, not uttering a word to anyone.

Afterwards she told Draco that the only other time she had seen a dragon was at the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  And then she begged to go back again.

The next time was similar to the first, except she actually drank some of the champagne.  The third time, she deigned to speak to Draco, pointing out differences in the ways the jockeys handled their dragons.  The fourth time, she didn’t shut up the entire time, critiquing the riders.  On the fifth, sixth, and seventh times, she started to get to know other people in the VIP section.  By the eighth time, she gained a contact who knew one of the owners and would set it up so she could meet a jockey or two, and see the winning dragon as well, after the race.

It would be a great disservice to compare dragon jockeys to racehorse jockeys.  You didn’t need to be small and light, but not all of the jockeys were burly men either.  It came down to your affinity for dragons.  When they met their first jockey, the wizard explained that there are very few witches or wizards in the world who can truly speak to dragons.  It is an uncommon ability to be able to meld a small piece of their magic to the magic of the dragon, allowing the person and beast to communicate through a temporary bond.

When the first dragon they met sat on her haunches, the tip of its tail swishing back and forth like a cat’s, and stared Astoria straight in the eye, there was a series of gasps from those around them.  The owner showing them around told Astoria that the dragon was recognizing her as a witch who could bond with dragons.  He asked her on the spot if she would be interested in training to work with them in some capacity.

Even before Astoria’s obsession took hold, Draco realized she wasn’t the one for him.  He didn’t dislike her; she was a sweet witch.  However, besides her knowledge of a few different creatures, she was kind of an airhead.  Draco tried not to show his boredom when he was parading around such a sought-after beauty on his arm.  When she decided to run away to join the circus also known as professional dragon racing, well, that was the nail in the coffin of their relationship.  Up until the day she left, they managed to keep up a façade of a relationship to protect her, and no one else knew where she was going until it was too late.  She was convinced her parents would attempt to force her to marry someone else.  To this day, Astoria insisted that Draco was her savior.

* * *

Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about Draco taking her to see the woman he was supposed to have married.  He was nonchalant about his past relationship with Astoria Greengrass, referring to it as “dating”.  She knew he had, in fact, severed a marriage contract.  Granted, it was one he negotiated on his own behalf, rather than the completely outdated version where parents created nonconsenting betrothals, sometimes at birth.  What Draco did was the wizarding world’s equivalent of a prenuptial agreement.  Hermione herself had a broken engagement in her past, and Draco was on civil terms with her ex.  She was sure she didn’t have a leg to stand on.

Hermione didn’t remember Astoria at all from Hogwarts.  Unlike some of her friends, Hermione didn’t tend to read the society pages (aka the gossip section) of The Prophet.  Which meant the curly haired witch could only admit to seeing a single picture of Astoria in the past.  It became front page news, _sadly_ , when “The Malfoy heir was left high and dry”.  Now that Hermione was friends with Daphne, she’d heard some tales about the little sister who escaped marriage on the back of a dragon.

It wasn’t like Astoria escaped _goblins during a bank robbery_ on the back of a dragon or anything.  But, whatever.  Hermione straightened her back in preparation as they entered something called a staging tent.  They barely made their way through the doorway when a blur came running towards them and flung itself into Draco’s arms.

Draco laughed at the woman who nearly bowled him over.  She looked good.  Her long dark hair was woven into twin Dutch braids to keep it securely out of her face.  While hugging her, he couldn’t help noticing how fit she was.  She was wearing all leather - a snug vest on top, fitted trousers, and knee high boots over them.  When she stepped back, he noticed her skin was very tan, but that wasn’t all he noticed.  There were scars from her time with the dragons.  A small one on her left cheek, a large one from being burnt which ran nearly the entire length of her right clavicle, her left forearm appeared to be missing a couple of knut-sized chunks, and her hands would never pass as lady-like again.  Nonetheless, she appeared to be indescribably happy.

He turned to Hermione, “I’d like you to meet Astoria Greengrass.  Astoria, this is Hermione Granger.”  Astoria rolled her eyes.

“Always so formal, Drake.  As if I didn’t know who she was.”  Astoria smiled at Hermione, “I’m sure you get this all of the time…  You know you’re one of my heroes, yeah?  When you punched Drake while I was still a little firstie and I found out it was because you were defending Hagrid, well that was bloody brilliant!  And then, you liberated a dragon and flew away on it!”

Hermione’s brain was awhirl.  _Drake?_   And being someone’s hero for sticking up for Hagrid?  Did anyone else even remember the reason why she hit _Drake_?  Unlikely.  And only one other person Hermione knew had ever referred to the trio’s flight on a dragon as a _liberation_ before.  And don’t think Hermione didn’t notice _Drake’s_ quick perusal of Astoria’s body, even if it was probably chaste.  How should she even respond to this little tornado of a woman?

“Did _Drake_ ,” she arched an eyebrow at him, “ever tell you about the time when he and I were still little firsties and he tried to get Hagrid sacked because Hagrid wanted to illegally raise a dragon in his hut?  Ron, Harry, and I were there for the hatching, as was _Drake_ , hiding outside a window.”

“No, he never shared that with me, but I’ve heard about it from Charlie.”

Charlie?  Astoria knew Charlie Weasley?  What other Charlie could she be referring to in conjunction with Hagrid’s dragon, Norbert?  Or rather, Norberta.  She was just about to ask further questions when Astoria broke into her chaotic thoughts,

“We better floo over to the starting zone.  I’m the last jockey left here and I don’t want my handlers to be getting worried about me.  The floo here only connects to two places, the start line tent and the finish line tent.  Same with the floos in both of those tents.  You just need to say ‘start’, ‘staging’ or ‘finish’ to get around to where you need to be,” she explained as she held out the pot of floo powder to them.  Astoria went first, followed by Hermione, with Draco taking the rear.

* * *

Today’s race featured four dragons.  Astoria was riding an Antipodean Opaleye.  There were also two Swedish Short-Snouts and a Common Welsh Green.  All of them were kept far enough away from the other three so they couldn’t start fights or catch each other with their flames.  They were in pens surrounded by their handlers, and the Short-Snouts and the Green already had their jockeys nearby them as well.  Astoria led Hermione and Draco towards the Opaleye.

He was the most beautiful dragon Draco had ever seen.  Antipodean Opaleyes are the most docile of dragons, which Draco supposed could be the dictionary definition of a “relative term”.  He was standing fairly still, one leg nervously pawing at the ground in a lazy manner.  There were torches lit around his enclosure, and the light they created bounced back off of his pearly scales.  He looked like an enormous glowing apparition.  His eyes were mesmerizing, every color of the spectrum staring back at Astoria as she made her way towards him.  The dragon stopped scratching at the earth in front of him and cocked his head to the side.  Astoria bowed her head at him.  Draco knew they were communicating using their bond.

Hermione glanced at the Swedish Short-Snout closest to the tent when they exited it.  A Short-Snout was the breed of dragon Cedric Diggory had faced in his first task.  Hermione realized sadly that Cedric’s visage was fuzzy in her mind.  What she did remember was that dragon’s agility.  No wonder there were two of them racing here.  Its silvery blue scales weren’t easily discernable in the torch light.  When it let out a small puff of flame, the vibrant blue color was astonishing. 

Hermione watched Astoria link her mind with the Opaleye.  It looked a bit like the dragon Hermione rode all of those years ago.  Gringotts’ goblins imprisoned the Ukrainian Ironbelly in the bank’s depths for so long it had paled in color and was stunted in its growth.  Now that she was seeing an Antipodean Opaleye up close, she knew there was a world of difference.  Astoria turned to Draco and Hermione,

“This is as close as you are allowed to come.  His wizard-given name is Fabian.  However, his kind would never refer to him by that name.  In my mind, his true name roughly translates to “Swiftness of the Wind”.  I told him about both of you.  He finds it amusing that you are also a dragon, Draco,” she smirked at her ex.

“And he wants me to ask you if saving your current dragon is as exciting as the first one?” Astoria asked Hermione, with a raised eyebrow.

“I…  I don’t think that I know…  How does Fabian…  Tell him…  Uhhh…” Hermione never imagined she would be having such an embarrassing conversation _with a dragon._   What exactly did Astoria tell him?  Why would Astoria be talking about such personal things with a dragon?  How much did dragons understand about human thoughts and emotions?  Did they learn about humans through the bond and the people they could communicate with?  Did they end up only reflecting the minds of the handful of people they could talk to?  Or, did dragons share some emotional traits with wizards?  Surely their thoughts weren’t anything humanoid in nature.  She doubted that a dragon ever felt guilty.  She knew they protected their young fiercely.  And it appeared they may also have a sense of humor??  How long had she been standing here staring into space thinking a hundred different thoughts about dragons?

“Tell Fabian that riding this dragon is much more exciting than the first one.”  Oh. My. God.  Did Draco really just say that?  Hermione wanted to run away and hide.  Or die.  Yes, death would be preferable to what was happening right now.

Fabian’s tail batted the ground repeatedly and puffs of smoke came out of his snout.

“Fabian likes you Draco.  He thinks you’re funny,” Astoria smiled.

And now Hermione knew she had officially seen everything worth seeing in the world.  Dragons could laugh.

* * *

They arrived at the bottom of the grandstand and Draco paused to allow Hermione to transfigure her shoes.  She held onto his muscular arm to keep her balance as the shoes changed from flats to small heels.  She liked the simple style of clothing he had chosen to wear today - light khaki-colored trousers and a short-sleeved white linen button-down, his shoes and belt a medium brown leather.  His aviator sunglasses were pushed up into his tousled hair, ready for when the sun came up.  He looked so relaxed.  They climbed the stairs to the top, where the VIP seating area resided.

He went to grab mimosas for them; she stopped him with a hand on his arm, and she turned to the attendant and asked if it would be possible to get a Bloody Mary instead?  When she found that she could, she asked for it to be extra spicy and to contain a salad’s worth of garnishes.  Her drink arrived in a tall, celery salt rimmed glass, accompanied by pickled asparagus, a celery stalk, spicy pickled green beans, bleu cheese stuffed olives, cocktail onions, and a crispy slice of bacon.  ‘Breakfast of champions’, she thought to herself with a smirk.  She was savoring the unique flavor of the pickled asparagus when she heard,

“Hermione?!”  Turning around she found Charlie Weasley looking at her quizzically.

“Charlie!”  Hermione handed her drink to Draco and then went to hug one of her favorite Weasleys.  He picked her up easily and gave her a swing around.  Hermione tipped her head back, laughing at him, and almost lost her hat.  She adjusted the hat and smoothed her dress when he set her back down.

Draco looked at Hermione’s flushed cheeks and silly grin as she talked to the Weasley man.  He tried to remember again how many Weasleys there were.  Six?  He hadn’t met this one before.  Draco knew he was one of the two oldest brothers.  There was the other one (what was his name?), married to Fleur, whom he used to see around Gringotts from time to time; it now occurred to Draco it had been years since the last time he saw him there.  Did he even work there anymore?

Draco momentarily zoned out, was drawn back in as Hermione moved next to him to take her drink as she said, “Draco, this is Charlie Weasley.  Charlie, I don’t know if you have ever met Draco Malfoy before?”

Charlie held out his hand and shook Draco’s with a firm grip.  Draco was taller than the redhead by three, maybe four, inches, although by the way the man’s muscles rippled beneath his fitted shirt, it was obvious who would win in a fight.

“Hermione told me you’re here as Astoria’s guests.  When Astoria first told me the story of how she came to be a jockey, I had a tough time believing it, Malfoy.  Coincidentally, I started to hear more flattering stories about you from George, Ron, and Harry recently too.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Draco, who was often circumspect, found he strangely liked this wizard’s bluntness.

“Charlie came over here to tell you all of this in an attempt to avoid telling me what he’s doing here,” Hermione teased, winding her arm around Draco’s waist.  Although she pulled Draco’s hip as close to hers as she could while he avoided her large hat, Draco still got the distinct impression she was mildly flirting with the other man.  Her head was tilted in an advantageous way, showing the side of her neck, her eyes were bright, and her mouth was quirked up.  Draco found the situation amusing.  He wondered what Charlie was thinking.

“Well, since I rarely make it home to England, and it isn’t like you’re hanging around the Burrow when I do, I guess you can be forgiven for not keeping up on my life.”  Charlie huffed a smidgeon dramatically, definitely teasing the witch back.  Charlie’s eye flicked Draco over and his grin incrementally widened.  Did the ginger just check him out?  Holy shite.  With a glance Charlie had managed to gauge Draco’s reaction to the flirting and…  Maybe something else as well?  Draco didn’t imagine that, did he?  This was one of the times in Draco’s life where he thanked Salazar for his ability to keep a completely straight face.  Before Draco could even process what _maybe_ just happened, Charlie’s attention was focused back on Hermione.  Oh, this wizard was good - Draco realized he could take lessons from the man.  The word ‘interesting’ popped into Draco’s head.  Draco realized it was the message he’d seen in Charlie’s eyes.  The exotic wizard found the blond wizard ‘interesting’.

It had been years since Hermione last saw Charlie.  Yet, here they were falling right back into their little dance of seemingly harmless flirting.  Well, harmless up until their final interaction.  The last time she saw him, she and Ron were still together, although Ron wasn’t at George’s flat that particular evening.  Ron was out of town on an Auror mission, as was Harry.  Hermione found herself at a small gathering with a mixture of George and Charlie’s friends, really only knowing Lee Jordan and Katie Bell at the beginning.  By the end of the night, Oliver wood was promising to owl her, but she was mentally digressing now.  She drank a couple of drinks during the party, choosing to not get past a nice buzz.  Near the end of the evening, she found herself out on the secret back balcony, smoking a joint with George, while Charlie said goodbye to the last couple leaving.  Charlie came out to join them, immediately pouted upon seeing Hermione smoking, and without a word, flipped George a Galleon from his pocket.  George passed him the joint with a smirk, Charlie took a drag, blowing out the smoke with a smirk of his own.

The three of them giggled for the next hour out there, the men still continuing to drink firewhiskey, Hermione happy just to be stoned.  Their conversation slowly took a turn from slightly suggestive to downright risqué.  She was sitting in between them looking out over the alley, when in tandem they each placed a hand high up on her thighs.  Hermione nearly hyperventilated over a situation which fell within the realm of years’ worth of masturbation material for her.  She had imagined various situations similar to this, starting just months after the war was over, when Charlie spent so much time at home.  She didn’t really regret her reaction of jumping up from them.  She was engaged to their brother.  That didn’t mean she didn’t fantasize about _what could have happened._

Charlie returned to Romania days after the incident, and Hermione never heard anything from him or even about him.  The next time she saw George at a Sunday family brunch two weeks later, he nearly acted as if nothing happened.  He treated her the same as he had for years.  Hermione had been nervous to go, and probably acted a bit weird to start.  As the day passed on without so much as an awkward glance her way, she hadn’t been quite sure what to think.  She went inside to get dessert ready to take back outside to the table set up in the backyard, where everyone was waiting after the main meal.  She was the only one in the kitchen.  George walked in and asked, ‘I heard you’re looking for office space in Diagon Alley?  If you need any help looking at properties, let me know.’  He had glanced around making sure they were alone, moved right next to her, and quickly whispered, ‘Are we ok?’  She had looked up into an uncharacteristically worried face and answered truthfully, ‘Yeah,’ in a quiet voice before responding to his initial statement at normal volume, ‘That would be great, George.  I have an agent showing me some properties this week.  I’ll run any I like by you before making a final decision, since you know the area.’  ‘Let me help you carry this out,’ he said with his usual smile, picking up a platter of cookies, while she grabbed the cake.  And that was it.

“I manage this facility on behalf of its investors,” Charlie surprised both Draco and Hermione with his declaration.  “I wasn’t happy at the reserve anymore.  I believed in what we did there…” he paused as if to gather his thoughts, “I felt that rather than being reactive to dragons in need, I wanted to work in something more proactive.  Illegal dragon breeding and racing were two of the three main reasons why dragons needed to be rescued.  Habitat encroachment being the other.  Working here, I can make a difference by seeing how dragons raised in captivity are treated before it becomes an issue.  While getting to know the breeders over the years, I’ve gained their trust enough to help weed out some of the shady ones.”

Charlie stopped speaking for a moment to grab a sparkling water off the table just a few feet behind him.  Draco’s eyes flicked down the wizard’s backside, noting the way dragonhide pants could really show off someone’s _assets_.  Hermione took a sip of her drink and murmured, “Yum.”  Draco was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about the Bloody Mary.  Blood started to travel south as Draco flashed back to what he and Hermione had been doing in his flat a mere 8 hours ago.

Hermione watched Draco quickly down his mimosa; he shifted away from her to set down the empty glass, and slid his hands into his pockets.  “Do you still have opportunities to work hands-on with the dragons?” he asked as Charlie faced them again.

“Yes, when new competitors shift from their owner’s training areas to here.  On average, that means about once a week.  We don’t have set line-ups, dragons tend to be too temperamental to actually schedule them for races.  As long as we have three dragons, we can race.  The most we will allow is seven.  My help isn’t required when competitors return home, they’re more… docile… for that move.”  Draco was genuinely interested in what Charlie was telling him.

He had heard from a reliable source that the racetrack investors were considering a second venture to be built in either Mongolia or Eastern Russia.  Draco was thinking about investing in a dragon.  One that could be raced for a few of years and then studded out for breeding.  He thought of it as a gentleman’s venture.  Between Astoria, and now Charlie, he should be able to get reliable advice and have an in.  He got the sense he wouldn’t be able to tempt Charlie away from his current endeavor; pragmatically it occurred to Draco that it would be better to know probably the most trusted employee within the enterprise.

“It’s a perfect mix for me.  I’m not a fool; I was already one of the oldest tamers on the reserve when I quit.  Being forced to spend the rest of my life behind a desk would kill me, though,” Charlie continued.  “Don’t get me wrong, I have a desk.  I just try to limit myself to less than three hours a day sitting at it.”

Being a titan of industry gave Draco a metaphorical hard-on, but he was now focused enough on business to forget his earlier discomfiture.  He smoothly pulled one of his business cards out and handed it the wizard.  “If you are permitted by your employers to take on consulting roles, I would happily compensate you for your time in assisting me with an idea I have.  If not, at least let me take you out to dinner and pick your brain for names of people I could trust to advise me.”

Charlie took the card, “I’ll contact you this week to set up dinner.”  He looked around, the room had filled up while they spoke.  “I have other people I should greet.  Will you save me a seat next to you for the race?”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed.

Draco directed her towards the tables of food where they both filled up plates.  As they moved to sit in seats near the back and off-center, an attendant inquired if they would like another drink.  Hermione requested another Bloody Mary, while Draco stuck with a mimosa.  Draco filled in Hermione on his thoughts on dragon ownership as they enjoyed the fare.  Hermione shrugged and wished him luck.  Although she was still passionate about the treatment and rights of magical creatures, Hermione didn’t see the allure of owning a race dragon.  Even as an investment opportunity.  She knew Draco well enough to not worry about the venture being anything besides ethical.

Charlie came and sat next to Hermione, with Draco on the other side of her, just as a projection appeared in front of the stands, slightly below where they were seated, yet still large enough to be clear to them.  It showed the four dragons lining up at the starting line, riders on their backs, and a single handler on the ground for each dragon holding a magical muzzle on a leash.  It reminded Hermione of going to a Muggle concert and being far enough away that you would watch the band up on a screen, rather than looking at the stage.  She would bet whomever designed this had exactly that experience in mind, however this screen was conjured temporarily; it hadn’t been there a minute before the live feed began.

Draco was leaning forward in excitement, with his elbows on his knees.  Charlie slung an arm around her shoulders and subtly angled his body towards hers.  “The screen will only be there until the dragons are in the air.  You will be able to see them on the edge of the horizon within a minute of the race’s start.  The screen will reappear again just before the end of the race, with the image trained on the finish line.  The two most dangerous times in these races for the humans are moments before take-off, and after the finish, up until all dragons are again secured.

“When the trainers drop the leashes just before the start, the muzzles disappear.  Dragons have been known to choose to fight each other on the ground, taking out their competitive aggression, before taking flight.  We also have dragons who react violently to the results of the race.  Just as with wizards, you see dragons who win and want to rub it in, in addition to sore losers.  We also have now had two instances where winning male dragons wanted to show their dominance in a more sexual way and another time, one female champion whose endorphin-high mimicked being in heat, causing all three of the males she had beat to fight over the right to mount her.  Getting in the way of dragons fucking is a sure way to get killed.”

“What do you do in those situations?”

“Apparate to a safe distance until it’s over,” he responded dryly.

“Do the riders stay linked to them through everything, trying to talk them down?”

“For the run of the mill fights?  Yeah.  For mating?  No.  Would you want someone in your mind during a shag?”

Draco chose that moment to snort and look over at them.  He opened his mouth to say something, probably snarky, when an announcer spoke up.

“Welcome witches and wizards to today’s competition!”  He went on to introduce the dragons, mentioning the respective beast’s owner’s names in tandem, and their jockeys.  His demeanor reminded Hermione a bit of going to a Quidditch match.  In a perfectly pitched, friendly voice, the wizard threw out little educational snippets about each dragon breed, told anecdotes about the riders, and let first-time attendees know what to expect.  He wasn’t quite as _graphic_ as Charlie, while he did still allude to the implied danger inherent in this sport.

Draco perked up when he heard the dragon owners’ names mentioned.  He had not been to these races in a couple of years, but he noticed there was still not any advertising present anywhere.  He was impressed that the group of investors who owned all of this either made plenty of money off of the spectators, or owned sufficiently deep pockets, allowing them not to care - either way leaving them completely self-sufficient.  The only names really reaching this crowd were the investors themselves and the dragon owners.  The name exposure would just be a bonus on top of the money he hoped to make from his plan.

He leaned back in his chair and grabbed Hermione’s hand, holding it atop her thigh.  Charlie didn’t move his arm.  Draco could not figure this man out.  Maybe he really just had no personal space.  Astoria was the same way.  Could it be related to their unique brand of magic?  _Did it somehow make you_ _slightly more like a dragon in some way?_   What an interesting theory.  Draco wondered if anyone had ever studied it.

‘Oh, Merlin’s saggy arse’, he bemoaned in his head, imagining what Hermione would say if he asked Charlie about the research possibilities.

There were times Draco was sure he was almost as big of a swot as Hermione.  The difference between the two laid in Draco having the sense to not open his mouth and expound on every idea that occurred to him.  Wait, what if she also had a similar sense?  What if, like him, she only voiced a small fraction of her thoughts?  How much went on in her head at any given time?

Right then, Hermione did not have much of anything going on in her head.  She was focused on the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.  She came out of her little moment of shock, induced by the amount of male surrounding her, only because she realized people were starting to yell and stand up around her.  Draco gave her hand a squeeze, then winked at her as she looked to him, when she stood up a little slower than others around them.

On the magic screen in front of them she saw the handlers release their ropes and step back.  All four dragons crouched.  Hermione saw Astoria touch her flying goggles one last time, probably a nervous habit bred of wanting to make sure they were secure.  There was a loud gong, and the dragons were all air-bound.  It coincided with the first sliver of the new morning’s sun breaking the horizon.  Hermione couldn’t help the gasp from escaping her lips.

The magical video relay of the beasts lasted almost no time at all.  When the screen blinked out, the crowd as a whole turned their heads to the left, catching sight of the miniscule figures on the horizon, heading for them.  The dragons would fly directly in front of the stands, as they made their way across the sky.  The finish line was just beyond their view on the horizon to their right.  From start to finish, it would last only about 10 minutes.

When they were first ascending, the two Short-Snouts shot flames towards each other.  Otherwise, no other dragon-fire occurred as the dragons seemed to put all of their energy into flying aerodynamically and quickly.  Draco knew on an intellectual level there were differences between the four jockeys in the way they held themselves and directed their dragons.  Hell if he could see it.  He could just make out four human forms lying prone on the backs of four sleek dragons.  The dark-scaled Common Welsh Green stood out against the other three with their much lighter colored scales.  It was also the dragon in the lead at the half-way point as they passed in front of the spectators.

Hermione would later swear to Draco that the air felt slighter hotter as the beasts flew by.  Like the naturally raised temperature of the breath expelled by four dragons was enough to be felt.  Maybe it was.  They created their own wind as they went by, wings beating firmly.  Hermione could feel the thumping vibrations created by their wings run up her spine. Hermione’s hat was caught by a gust, and when it flew off her head, Charlie was the one who snagged it, quick as lightening.

Harry once told Draco a story about playing Quidditch in the fields behind the Burrow with the Weasleys.  Usually they played three on three with Ginny and Harry the Seekers and the four brothers, minus Charlie, rotating positions.  When Charlie was there, Ginny lost her position as Seeker and they would coax Fleur up to play to make it four on four.  Harry had been a little in awe of Charlie’s skill as a Seeker.  Harry insisted that Charlie Weasley was a better Seeker than Victor Krum!  Harry made up an obvious lie detailing how George liked to lay odds on _the number of times Charlie could catch the snitch before Harry caught it once_.

Draco didn’t want to discount Charlie’s fast reflexes, but he once again wondered if it was related to what Draco wanted to call “dragon magic”.  While these thoughts flitted through his head, he watched the other wizard carefully adjust Hermione’s hat back onto her head for her.  Draco turned back to the skies, wanting to see how the race ended.

The screen came back up, showing large as life what were now just specks in the sky.  The Green still held the lead and managed to not give it up in the last minute.  Astoria and Fabian came in second, with the two Short-Snouts once again snarling at each other as they came down towards the ground behind her.  They were calmed as they landed, so no fight would be witnessed today.  All of the dragons allowed themselves to be roped and led to their enclosures.

“Your passes allow you to go out to the finish line area, if you’d like.  The dragons and their riders will all remain out there for about 30 minutes, cooling down.  The winning dragon will be given a sheep to eat as his prize.  Once he’s finished, his jockey will fly him back here for the award presentation.  The other jockeys will also make their way back via floo at the same time.  There is a mix and mingle down on the ground at the end, I hope to see you there.  For now, I’m off.”  Draco nodded to acknowledge Charlie’s helpful information.

“We’ll find you on the ground before we leave,” Hermione assured Charlie.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to witness a dragon devouring a sheep, but if Draco really wanted to go to the finish line, she would also.  She decided to voice this aloud.

“You can just avert your eyes,” Draco reasoned with her.

“Yes, however, closing my eyes will not shut out the sounds or smells,” she replied smartly.

“By the time we get out there, I bet there won’t be any pieces of the sheep left.”

“Right, because blood splattered all over the sand won’t make it obvious what occurred.”

“Yes, but the few minutes delay will negate your sound problem,” Draco pointed out, grey eyes full of mirth.

“Oh, well, when you put it that way,” she drawled.

“You just informed me that if I really wanted to go, you would follow me.  Well, I do.  So, let’s go.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

“Rolling your eyes at me doesn’t get you out of what you told me.”

She rolled her eyes a second time as she followed him to the staging tent.

* * *

It wasn’t as bad as she feared.  There was a scorch mark on the ground from the dragon cooking its prize before eating it.  There really wasn’t much blood.  And the overwhelming smell around them was just sulfur in general.  The Green was looking rather smug, if Hermione was reading the situation correctly.  From Charlie’s stories, Hermione knew dragons understood that there was a definite winner, with the spoils going to the victor.

On the other hand, Astoria looked glum.  There was no prize for second place in this race.  She beckoned Draco and Hermione closer to her and Fabian than allowed pre-flight.  Draco was idly wondering about how quick Astoria’s reflexes may have been before she came here to work.  He couldn’t think of an instance that stood out to him.  He was sure her current reaction time was honed by her circumstances.  Maybe Daphne would know?

“We have about 15 more minutes here, staying linked with our partners.  In addition to me, one handler is also linked up to Fabian.  The three of us were just discussing going home today.  Fabian has been here for two weeks and is feeling frustrated - he hasn’t won a single race in that time.  The last time we were here, he won 3 out of 5.  We might go home and work on a few different techniques we have seen lately.”

“Then I’m glad we got to see you before you weren’t here to race.  We ran into Charlie Weasley in the grandstand; actually I should say Hermione introduced me to him.  Neither of us had any idea he worked here,” Draco raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Oh yes, I thought the surprise would be more fun.”

“Hmph,” was all the response Draco could muster.

Hermione decided now was a good time to ask some questions she had thought of.  “How do you learn to communicate with a dragon?  Is it just one dragon you can talk to, or some, or all?  Do you have better rapport with some than others?  Can you talk to more than one at the same time?”  She said all of these in one breath and felt quite silly when she took a big gulp of air.

Astoria laughed, “Wow.  You don’t mess around do you?  Well, the linking is always led by a dragon.  Something in them allows the recognition of a witch or wizard containing the correct magic.  It takes months of meditation for the person to access that piece of magic the first time.  I have been told it is similar to Animagus training, although I have never tried that particular magic before.”

Hermione let out an, “Oh!” as if she was going to interrupt; a stern look from Draco drew her lips tightly back together.

“It is different for each of us, though in general, we can communicate with any of the dragons to some degree.  However, we tend to fit better with some than others.  I think it is due in part to our personalities.  Charlie is one of the few I have seen who can instantly communicate easily with any dragon.  I think it is because he is so easy-going.  Beatrice, Fabian’s owner, once told me it is because Charlie’s magical core is amazingly strong,” Astoria shrugged at that last bit, evidently dismissing the theory.  Draco wasn’t sure if it was because she doubted the theory itself or if she doubted Charlie’s magic.  Draco _really_ couldn’t stop thinking about the research possibilities presenting themselves.

“As for linking with more than one dragon at once, no, that is not possible.  The dragons can chose to link to more than one human at once.  That doesn’t mean the humans are linked to each other,” Astoria glanced over at the wizard standing next to Fabian, “So I can’t hear what is going on inside Brett’s head.  Thank the gods.”

Brett smirked, “It’s more than is going on in yours, I bet.”

Astoria looked at Fabian and started to giggle.  Then she turned back to Brett with a smirk of her own, “You should probably guard your thoughts better next time we’re both linked together.  Fabian has no shame in sharing what you are thinking.”  Brett blushed.

“Come, we can go back to the staging area.  Brett can finish up here for me,” Astoria said as she wove her arm through Hermione’s and started to lead her back to the floo.  Hermione looked back over her shoulder to Draco in a bit of confusion at this seemingly friendly gesture.

* * *

Once they walked over to the presentation area on the field for the meet and greet, Draco and Hermione quickly found themselves alone without Astoria.  She was pulled aside to meet other witches and wizards.  Hermione noticed that with the larger crowd around, the one dragon present had an increased number of handlers with him.  It appeared all four of them were linked up with the Common Welsh Green.  None of the crowd could get closer than a fence set up about 50 meters from the beast, yet they still weren’t taking any chances.

The sun was now climbing into the sky far enough to begin giving off heat.  Hermione pulled her wand out of her thigh holster and cast a cooling charm on herself, as well as Draco.

“Thanks.”

“How about we find both Astoria and Charlie to say good-bye before we leave?” she asked, as she slid her wand away.

The walked over to where Astoria was chatting with an elderly couple and Draco caught her eye.  She excused herself when she was able to politely break off her conversation.  She hugged Draco and whispered something in his ear, to which he blushed.  Then she turned to Hermione and hugged her as well.  Draco watched as she whispered something to Hermione which caused a slight frown to appear on the witch’s face.  Hermione turned to Draco and the frown turned into a brilliant smile.  She reached for his hand and led him towards Charlie Weasley.

Charlie walked them away from the crowd so they could have a word in private.  Draco cast a wandless Muffliato.  “I just want to be clear on what we will be discussing at dinner this week.  It’s no secret that you took your family company from near bankruptcy to a multi-national success.  If you plan to start up something that is in anyway a competition with this establishment, I can not be a part of it.  If, however, you are planning something else dragon-related, then I would be delighted to consult,” Charlie said.

Yes, Draco could see himself enjoying spending time with the blunt wizard.  “Well, then I guess we are still on for dinner this week,” he drawled.  Charlie smiled as he held out his hand to Draco.

Charlie turned and swept Hermione up into a very tight hug.  He pulled back slightly, lingering within her personal space, with his hands holding her shoulders.  “It really has been too long, love.  If I am to be working with Malfoy, hopefully I will see more of you?”

Hermione couldn’t believe how brazen he was being.  She glanced at Draco who was giving her an appraising look.  She kept eye contact with Draco as she replied to Charlie, “Yes, I’d like that.”

* * *

Draco couldn’t seem to get home fast enough.  He’d been half hard since witnessing the innuendo between Charlie and Hermione.  Damn portkey line to get out of the blasted desert.  Bloody customs wizard at the Ministry making sure they hadn’t tried to smuggle in anything dragon-related.  Then another long line of idiots at the Ministry floos.  And Hermione wasn’t making it any easier on him.  He could feel the tension radiating off of her.  He purposefully was not looking at her flushed cheeks, parted lips, or wide eyes.  When they finally stepped out of the floo in his flat, she barely took the time to take off her hat and toss it on a chair before she ran towards his bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “Where’s that toy from last night?”


	6. Red Means Stop, Green Means Go, Tell Me Again What Yellow Means?

 

When Hermione was little, her parents often took three day weekends off to just get in their car and get out of the city.  They owned more than one dental practice and their employees took appointments on Fridays, although they seldom did.  They did still take patients in one or another of their offices Monday through Thursday, although as time went on, it tended to be only long-time patients, rather than new ones.  This allowed them to take on charity work, often times for disadvantaged children, throughout London, but they also rotated in to work occasionally at a refugee center, filling a need many didn’t even know existed.  (This work with refugees came in handy when Hermione felt forced to obliviate her parents; she led the other dentists under them to believe her parents were taking a year-long sabbatical to work with Dentists Without Borders, and therefore couldn’t receive mail or phone calls.)

And so, when Thursday night rolled around, Hermione’s parents were often tired and disillusioned with events they had witnessed outside of their office.  Which resulted in some quick packing on her mother’s part as her father took the car to fill up on petrol and snacks.  They would get everything ready that night, so they could depart very early in the morning before the rush of traffic created by everyone else going to work could begin.

Sometimes they planned a definite destination, other times they just went wherever the winds carried them.  Hermione loved this time with her parents more than any other time she spent with them.  They played car games, like “I Spy” and “Bingo”.  In her earliest memories, the car would have a tape deck; as she got older, a CD player.  Her parents’ music tastes varied, but tended more towards classic rock.  Hermione could sing along to Freddie Mercury at a young age.  When Hermione was a teenager, in those rare times she found herself enjoying carefree weekends at home, she would mix in some of her music with theirs.  Trying to explain the appeal of The Spice Girls to her parents seemed laughable, in retrospect.  And the conversations they would have…

Politics, religion, sex, drugs, rock-n-roll, and off course, magic.  Nothing was off the table as a topic of discussion.  Debates could last for hours, ideas bouncing around inside the vehicle, like bullets ricocheting in an enclosed place.  Only once or twice did one of them truly get upset.  One of those times occured about three months ago when Hermione chose a road trip as the best time to break the news to her parents regarding her relationship with dating Draco.

The first of many incredulous questions: “The Draco Malfoy we heard you cry over being bullied by when you came home on breaks?”  Which led to: “The same Draco Malfoy who watched you be tortured in his own home?”  In a hissing voice, Mr. Granger asked, “Are you sleeping with him?”  When she meekly nodded, he followed it up by nearly bellowing, “Have you lost your mind?!”  That was a bit much.  She snapped, “No, thank you very much!”  “Well, then are you on drugs?” he demanded.  “No, I’m not on drugs.  And before you ask, no, he isn’t using magic to make me do anything I don’t want to do,” she replied in a terse tone.  Her dad actually pulled over the vehicle on the side of the road to get out and pace along the shoulder, muttering to himself, waving his arms in the air madly.  She and her mum just looked on in silence.

When he got back in the car, he immediately turned around in his seat to face her.  “Does he make you happy?” he demanded to know.  She told him yes.  “Well, then you better bring him round to dinner to meet us.”  And that was that.  Well, it wasn’t perfect; she would generously describe their first dinner as _awkward_ , and she could tell her dad and mum were still hesitant about the whole situation, even now, months after her car confession, but her happiness meant a lot to them.  At least no one (meaning Draco) left with a black eye.

Draco had heard of these wonderful car trips almost from the moment they got together.  It was hard not to know about them when they sometimes meant he didn’t get to take her out on the weekend, when she left town with her parents.  At least he didn’t need to be jealous about the little jaunts into the countryside.  Early on, her parents made a strict rule about it being family only, so no friends or past boyfriends ever went on one.  Which is exactly why Hermione knew she needed to plan a trip just for her and Draco.

* * *

Hermione settled on a two-night trip, the first night being spent at Seaham Hall and the second night in Haltwhistle, at a lovely little B&B – The Ashcroft Guesthouse.  She made reservations at both places with plenty of time to get the best rooms and the little add-ons she knew Draco would appreciate.  And then, she started to map out the sights to see along the way.  Out of the three days, the last contained the most time behind the wheel – about five and a half hours, depending on traffic- still leaving plenty of time for planned stops.

Draco was formulating his own plan for their trip.  He planned on learning to operate an automobile.  He’d only ridden in one a handful of times; he found his curiosity growing steadily on the subject.  He thought up his approach to Hermione, figuring if it didn’t work, he would settle on just asking over and over and eventually wear her down.  Yes, that seemed like the most reasonable way to go about it.

Start with a trust-worthy posture, he thought, she needs to know you can be counted on to take this seriously.  Sitting at dinner the Monday before their trip, he smiled, leaned towards her, with one hand palm up, holding her hand and the other one in plain sight on the table.  “I’ve been thinking it would the perfect opportunity to learn to drive this weekend…”

“No.”

Ask open-ended questions to uncover her hesitations, then address them.  “Tell me why you think that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“No.”

Huh, open-ended questions aren’t supposed to allow the other person to answer with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.  “Why do you specifically think teaching me to drive would be a bad idea?”

“Because it would be.”

Well, that is more of an answer.  Stay open and positive.  “Automobiles are an amazing Muggle invention and I really want to learn more about them.”

“Read a book.”

Try to emphasize with her.  Yes, that is the next step, although it is tough when you aren’t really sure what you are emphasizing with.  “You sound reluctant to teach me to drive…”

“Actually, it is a disinclination to be in an automobile over which you have control.  I’ve seen the way you fly a broom.  A car has much more potential for causing injury to me, you, and others.”

Ahhhh…  Now he had to show her he heard her fears and understood them.  Then he could work on countering her argument!  “What you are saying is that you feel I am reckless when flying a broom and I wouldn’t take the proper care to keep you safe while driving a car?”

“Will you please stop using some horribly clichéd salesman tactics on me?  You’re coming off as a slimy git.”

Well, since she saw right through plan A, it was time to enact plan B - asking over and over again.  “Please, Hermione?  I will take excellent care and listen to every single thing you tell me to do,” he started in with the pleading and promises.  Which he kept up for the next three days, even owling her Wednesday night to let her know that he had gone into Muggle London to the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency earlier that afternoon to pick up literature regarding motor vehicle operation rules and regulations, and to acquire a provisional license.

When they met up in person at her parents’ home on Thursday night to pack the car, she finally caved, after inspecting his provisional license.  She even cast revealing spells on it to make sure it wasn’t a conjured fake.  As if.  He tried not to gloat _too much._   No need to be a total ponce.

“You know that you’re acting like a ponce, yeah?” she asked with a hand on her hip as she handed him back the license.

“Hmph,” he answered, noncommittedly.

Hermione’s parents owned four vehicles, while she did not own any.  She’d gotten her provisional license the summer between 4th and 5th year, and then obtained her regular license over Christmas break during 6th year.  She never found any reason to own a car.  The few times she wanted or needed to drive somewhere, she would just floo to her parents’ place and borrow one of theirs.  For this weekend they would be borrowing the black Aston Martin convertible.  If the weather held, she planned to have the top down for parts of the trip.  The decent-sized back seat was helpful for items they would want access to while driving.

Prior to Draco’s arrival, Hermione filled up the car’s tank and purchased some Muggle snacks to have handy.  She also had two thermoses of water, a map, a book of crossword puzzles, a book of riddles, foliage and fauna books, two pairs of omnioculars, a camera, a blanket, two umbrellas, and sunscreen arranged strategically in the backseat ready to go before Draco appeared.  The omnioculars were going to be the only magic permitted.  Originally packing field glasses, Hermione later changed her mind for this small allowance.

* * *

They embarked on their road trip date early on Friday morning.  They drove north on the M11 to Cambridge.  After Hermione helped him buckle his seatbelt properly, Draco spent the entire time fiddling with the nobs, turning on the heater, then blasting the air conditioner; he constantly changed the radio station, he rummaged through the glove box, he inspected his pores in the mirror on the visor; in other words, he acted like an annoying child.  Luckily, only an hour transpired before Hermione parked at St. Mary’s Church.  The sun was just rising and the church itself would still be locked, but she didn’t want to go inside.  She chose this first stop for an extremely pertinent historical marker.

On the wall outside of the church was the Great St. Mary’s Datum.  It read “This disk marks the datum point from which in 1725 William Warren, Fellow of Trinity Hall, began to measure the one mile points along the roads from Cambridge at which were then set up the first true milestones in Britain since Roman times.”  She started in on what this meant for not only travelers like them, but also for the military, government agencies, the postal service, and everyone who needed more exact locations, routes, and distances to do their jobs.  She was so excited to start Draco’s first road trip with this piece of history!  Draco yawned at her.  Then his stomach growled, causing him to look sheepish.  She took him out for breakfast.

Once back in the car, he started to demand his turn to drive.  She told him that she wanted to get a bit farther away from the heavy traffic, and then he could have a lesson.  In the meantime, Hermione quizzed Draco on each rule or law she could think of about driving.  She managed to keep it up a detailed interrogation until they were out in the country, heading north on the A1.

“Stop procrastinating Hermione, pull off at the next service station and let me behind the wheel.”

Hermione insisted that first she wanted to fill up the petrol and put the top down.  She quickly pulled her hair back into a tight braid so it wouldn’t be a complete disaster from the wind.  Then she put on sun block, asserting that Draco do the same.  When she felt satisfied, she pulled the vehicle over to a corner of the lot.  She got out and permitted Draco to get into the driver’s seat.  She allowed him to shut the door and get himself comfortable with where he wanted the seat and helped him figure out how to adjust all of the mirrors.  Then she opened the car door again and knelt down on the ground next to his feet.

“See this one here?  It’s the brake.  That one will stop the car.  And this one farthest inside?  It is the gas pedal.  Remember that you need to give the engine gas in order for it to propel the car forward.  I don’t suppose you read up on combustible engines?  No?  Well then.  This third pedal is the clutch.  It allows the engine to shift gears.  Think of it as a Lumos spell.  You can add more power behind the spell in order for your wand to give off increasingly brighter light.  You push the clutch in to put the engine in neutral, then you can change the gear and the speed at which we move.  The “R” is for reverse. The slowest forward-moving speed starts out when you are in first gear and goes up from there.  I know you were watching what I did with my hands earlier very carefully, but I figured it might be tough to see my feet.  Do you at least feel like you have the basics down?”  She was feeling anxious.  Part of her didn’t want to get in the car with him.  Too bad he couldn’t drive around the building a few times without her.

“Yes, I watched carefully the past hour and I think I understand the steering wheel, the blinkers, and the shifter thing.  And I know that I need to obey the speed limit.  Just, how do I know when or what to do with my feet?”  He said all of this hoping if he slipped the speed limit bit in the middle, she would trust him on that point.

“Well, the secret to you using your feet is that one is just for the clutch and the other foot is used for both the gas and the brake.  That way it can only be on one or the other pedal so you don’t make the accident of trying to do both at once.  When you step on the clutch, it needs to go all of the way down.  Then you ease it up, trying to even it out with the gas pedal.  I’ll get in and you can give it a try.”

Draco was mortified as the car bucked around the lot, stalling out over and over.  People snickered at him.  One guy walked up to the passenger’s side door to berate Hermione for allowing a beginner to grind the transmission like that and treat an expensive automobile like a piece of shite.  Draco wanted to hex him; instead he decided to give the wanker his best aristocratic sneer.  After the areshole walked away, Draco asked Hermione how much an Aston Martin cost.  She explained that there were more expensive cars out there, but even he thought it a bit much when she gave him a ballpark figure.  Which was saying something coming from a man who treated his 800-thread-count, hand-embroidered handkerchiefs like disposable tissues. 

Draco felt frustrated and tried his best to remain civil with his girlfriend.  Hermione made it difficult when she just kept on saying, “Even out the clutch and gas!” over and over in an exasperated tone, getting a bit shriller with each reiteration.

Draco thought he was getting the pedals as even as possible - maybe they should both be closer to the floor?

“What the bloody hell are you doing revving the engine like that Malfoy?” she berated him.

“What the fuck?  I am doing exactly what you say, _Granger,_ but you haven’t told me how far up or down to have the pedals while I keep them even.”

“Why are you trying to keep the pedals even?  Are you trying to use the brake at the same time as the gas?”

“No!  For fuck’s sake!  I am trying to keep the clutch and the gas pedal even, just like you keep on fucking yelling at me.”

“I don’t mean literally _even_ , I mean that as you are easing up on the clutch as you are pushing down on the gas.  You are evening out what you are doing with the engine.  Maybe it would be better explained by saying that the two pedals should always be used in opposition to each other?  Does that make more sense?  The car doesn’t need fuel while in neutral, so foot off the gas pedal while shifting.  Not all of the way off, leave your foot lightly resting on top of it, not exuding any pressure.  Once the vehicle is in gear again, the clutch can come all of the way up, and the gas pedal can be pushed down.”  Hermione said all of this in her best ‘I’m sorry’ voice without really apologizing.

Once they figured out that Hermione wasn’t explaining the intricacies of shifting in a _normal way_ , Draco felt confident he could do this; which meant that the car still stalled out on the very next try.  And on the one after.  On the third try to get somewhere in first gear and then shift into second gear, a miracle happened.  The car responded to him.  From there, it all came together.

Until he started driving on the actual streets, that is.  “Hermione, the light just switched to yellow!  What do I do?” he yelled at her as he came up to an intersection, still going full speed.

“Keep going, you are close and you will make it through before it turns to red.”

A few blocks later, it happened again.  Only this time, Draco wasn’t quite as close to the cross street when the light turned.  “Should I keep on going?  How do you decide?” he looked so flustered as he asked her.

“Give it a little more gas, you can make it!”

The third time he had to make a decision, he did it without asking, which, of course, meant that he ran a red light and found himself on the receiving end of the two finger salute from an octogenarian.

“Did you see that little old lady?  Oh Merlin, that was bloody hilarious!”  Draco was dying.

Hermione?  Not so much.  “What were you thinking?  We could have died!  You have to stop for red lights!”

“Yellow lights make no sense.  Instead of a light, there should be a countdown between the green and red light.  That way you know exactly how much time is left to make it through the intersection,” Draco informed her.

“Well, that is, surprisingly, an erudite suggestion.”  Although Hermione had no idea whom she should pass the suggestion on to.

Hermione made Draco stay on this side road for a few miles, until they came to a market and Hermione purchased a few items appropriate for a picnic lunch.  Draco felt confident, and asked if he could drive for a while on the main road.  When they got up to speed, he couldn’t get over how similar the feeling was to flying when the top was down.  He didn’t feel like he wielded the same control over the automobile as he did over his broom, but he admitted (only to himself) that he felt safer.  He had read all about the airbags in the owner’s manual in the glove box.

Hermione sat very still in the passenger seat.  She was practicing her “Draco façade” and refused to show her emotions to him.  She was scared shiteless.  Sure, he was driving carefully now and going the proper speed.  How long would that last?  Had Draco been content to ride a training broom as a child for more than an hour?  Adult Draco still possessed little to no will-power when he wanted something.  Any minute now he would have the confidence to go as fast as she knew he wanted to.

She had never tried to cast a Protego Totalum around a moving motor vehicle before.  The academic side of her wanted to know what the results of such a spell would be.  Would it protect the car in the case of a crash?  Or would an Impervious Charm work better?  Oh wait, maybe she should try the Horton-Keitch Braking Charm?  Hermione had never had an opportunity to use that particular spell before, it was just something she’d read about.  Doesn’t mean she didn’t know the incantation and proper wand movements, did it?  Whatever she chose, she probably shouldn’t do it while Draco drove for the first time.  It would be distracting.  Plus, it may hurt his feelings.  Hey, if they were dead, there wouldn’t be any feelings to hurt.  There was still the distraction factor to consider.  Maybe she could quietly do it while turning around and pretending to look for something in the back seat?

Shield charms were something Hermione had worked very hard at doing both wandlessly and non-verbally during the year on the run with Harry and Ron.  First because it seemed like a smart thing to do, and later when Ron left, and she and Harry were sharing a single wand between them, it could mean life or death if you were the one standing wandless.  Harry didn’t disagree, and they both practiced it continuously until Ron returned.  They reached a point where either one could cast a strong enough shield to cover the both of them while the other person wielded the wand to throw spells.

The concentration needed to cast a large shield and attach it to a moving object seemed like something she would want to channel through her wand, at least the first time.  So, she let it slip down her sleeve into her hand as she turned around to rummage in the back.  She whispered, “Protego Totalum,” and turned back around holding the thermos, wand already back up her sleeve.  “Water?” she asked Draco.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice what you were doing,” he responded, never taking his eyes off of the road.

* * *

They pulled into a turn-off soon after and found themselves parked 50 meters or so from the top of a knoll, looking down at a field full of heather.  Hermione handed Draco the omnioculars and the blanket to spread out on the grass, while she brought over the food for a lovely little repast.

“Admit it.  I am a better driver than you expected,” the wizard demanded with righteous arrogance.

“I admit that you’re not as dangerous of a driver as I feared,” her brown eyes not quite meeting his silver ones.

“Same thing,” he let out a genuine chortle, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze, an acknowledgement of her reluctance to admit she was wrong _twice in the same day_.

There were times Hermione didn’t understand Slytherins at all.  Why not just come out and say what you meant - it was quicker and _easier._ She didn’t have time for the machinations, and the energy needed to sustain it all gave her a headache.  Then came moments like this, when she couldn’t help but appreciate more subtle forms of communication than most of her other friends seemed capable of sustaining. 

When they got up to walk back to the car, Hermione surprised them both by offering to let him drive again.  The weather held and they kept the top down all the way to Seaham Hall.  Hermione forced Draco to stop twice more when they passed historical markers along the way.

She read them aloud to him, like he was bloody illiterate.  Then she would explain the history of the site in more depth then the plaque.  Draco had been duped into an educational trip.  With a sigh, he realized he should have known.

*******

After their numerous stops, they arrived at Seaham Hall just past tea time.  Hermione had booked the penthouse suite and set up something for them called The Evening Package.  She explained that they would receive 45-minute-long massages, and could eat a two course dinner on the terrace in their spa robes afterwards. 

“Since there’s a little time to spare, I challenge you to a game of billiards.  There’s a table down the way, in the Tattinger Lounge,” Hermione flounced down hall, not waiting for his answer.  Draco was ready for anything more fun than a dry history lesson.

“You know I grew up with a table in my home, yeah?” she tossed back over her shoulder at him as he followed at a more sedate stroll, enjoying the way her pert arse bounced when she skipped like that.

Draco ignored the curly-haired witch’s challenge.  He’d grown up with a table too, and he’d used it to win plenty of money off of his friends.

Later on, when they were sitting down for dinner, Draco thought that maybe all of the stress of the day, with the constant stopping, and even the yelling during his driving lesson, were mitigated by the pleasure of staring at Hermione’s arse constantly as she leaned over the billiards table.  He had managed to slide down one shoulder of her robe for a moment to roll a nipple with his fingers before they started their massages.  Between that, and the actual massage, he was horny as hell.

Hermione opted to start with the Onion Bhaji, followed by the Beef Panaeng Curry.  Draco decided to try the Duck Pancake for his first course.  He was truly excited over the Pork Belly with stir fry vegetables for second course.  Pork Belly was most definitely a Muggle food.  They found they had a bit of room left to share an order of Banana Spring Rolls for dessert.

Hermione’s robe dropped the moment their room door shut behind them and Draco had a fleeting thought regarding her masseuse and what teasing may have occurred.  By the time he could have formulated anything aloud, his mouth was otherwise occupied.  The first time, he took her from behind.

* * *

From Seaham Hall, they were going to take a leisurely drive through the Lake District.  Hermione had talked about the sites she wanted to visit that day, the amazing views to come, and the twisting roads they would travel.  Draco was thinking less about the views, and not at all about the “sites”, but rather about getting the car up to top speed on some of these roads Hermione was describing.  He’d done an admirable job of reining himself in yesterday.  Now it’s time to see what this car could really do, he thought with a smirk.  Which Hermione saw.  Damn.

She saw Draco’s smirk as they walked out to the car.  She had a pretty good idea what was going on in his scheming mind.

He tried to be pre-emptive with, “Don’t you know that one of the first lessons a Slytherin learns is ‘Don’t get caught’?”

Hermione smirked in return.  She knew people often underestimated her as a rule-follower.  Hermione definitely liked rules.  She liked knowing the rules forwards and backwards.  Then, she liked to find the grey areas within the rules to exploit them.  She handed Draco the keys without a word.

Draco felt afraid, very afraid.  Along with cars keys, he wondered if he had also been handed _just enough rope._

Hermione directed Draco to the A688 and Barnard Castle.

* * *

Draco couldn’t believe they had traipsed around the ruins of a castle.  Actual castle ruins.  Not just charmed ruins, like Hogwarts, with something interesting which only wizards could see.  The only good thing about their stop was the bakery with delectable scones he decided made an excellent second breakfast.  Yes, second breakfast became a real thing after to Hermione introduced him to Lord of the Rings.

And then it all just fell away.  All of the stress of _waiting for the other shoe to drop_ , all of his boredom, all of it.  He was driving on the most amazing stretch of road with the top down and the wind in his hair.  “It’s called Kirkstone Pass,” she informed him over the sound of the wind.  “Some locals also call it the _The Struggle_.” He let the other shoe drop then, quite literally.  Hermione didn’t say a word about how much over the speed limit he was going, however he felt sure that the car now had four separate charms on it.  Three cast by Hermione and one by him.  He surreptitiously cast a Confundus Charm to keep away police officers while Hermione wasn’t looking.

Hermione decided there was no time like the present for trying out a new charm.  She would need to make sure she told Ron and Ginny about it, since the Horton-Keitch Braking Charm was originally developed for Quidditch, after all.  She breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the shores of Lake Windermere.  They parked and admired the view of the road that Draco had attempted to use as a means of killing them.  She stood convinced of this, no talking her out of the fact of the matter.

Draco _loved_ driving.  Maybe as much as flying.  Could it be possible?  He was on such a high right now.  He contemplated casting a Notice Me Not charm and shagging Hermione on the blanket still in the backseat.  Draped over the hood of the car.  He wondered how that would fit into her perfect little schedule for their day.  He leaned over and kissed her deeply to test the waters.  She pulled away and he couldn’t help but pout.

“Uh uh,” Hermione wagged a finger at him.  “Keep it in your trousers.  We are going to get some lunch and then head to Birdoswald Roman Fort.”  Draco groaned, realizing his fun time was over before it even started.  Well, not completely.  She still allowed him to drive the car.

* * *

The drive through the rest of the Lake District was just as exhilarating and beautiful.  In less than two hours, they were parking at the fort.  As it happened to be a Saturday, the place was busy.  Hermione suggested a walk along Hadrian’s Wall first, and then tea after.  Once they finished tea, they could explore the ruins of the fort itself.

Hermione was beside herself.  There were otters in the River Irthing!  They frolicked around and if it wouldn’t have broken the Statute of Secrecy, she would have cast her Patronus to see if it would have played with them.  It felt inadequate to merely have Draco snap her picture with a muggle camera while standing with the otters visible in the background.  They walked through an apple orchard in bloom, blossoms falling around them in the spring breeze, the journey transpiring into a romantic enough experience to cover the ache left by the otters.  As they walked along the wall, Hermione read aloud from site literature.

“Hadrian's Wall formed the north-west frontier of the Roman Empire for most of the period AD 122-410. The empire's frontiers extended over 5,000 km from the Atlantic coast of Britain through Europe, the Middle East and across North Africa to the Atlantic.  Today, Birdoswald Fort has the longest intact continuous stretch of wall.  This incredible sight makes you appreciate the feat of Roman Engineering.  You will be transported back in time, imagining yourself as a Roman soldier, guarding your empire and keeping a watchful eye out for invading troops.”

“I would have never been a mere soldier, stationed at some gods-forsaken outpost,” Draco snorted, lifting his chin with patrician haughtiness.

Hermione snorted right back at him.  Malfoys styled themselves as the creators of political maneuverings.  The man behind the curtain.  Off on a tangent in her head she asked, “Have you seen the Wizard of Oz?”

Draco looked rightfully confused, “Who?  What is Oz?”

“Where.  Somewhere over the rainbow,” she giggled.

“Have you gone barmy on me?”

She still giggled a little madly.  “It’s a movie about a girl who finds herself in a magical land, called Oz, which can only be found by traveling to the other side of a rainbow.  The witches in the movie are real, but the wizard who rules the land is a charlatan who uses electricity to fool everyone into thinking he has magic.”

“What does that have to do with me being a Roman Senator?”

“A Senator, but not the Emperor, right?”

“Never an Emperor.  Better to be the influence behind the face of power,” stating what Hermione already knew about him.  Malfoys learned the lessons of cunningly wielding authority at their mother’s breast.  Although Draco didn’t crave the same type of power as his father, he still enjoyed the rush when he exerted himself in successful business transactions.

“There’s a muggle saying for people like that – the man behind the curtain.  In the Wizard of Oz, the “wizard” hides behind a curtain while performing his tricks in the throne room.  So you see, I was about five steps into a tangent-” Draco cut Hermione off by pulling her against him and putting his mouth over hers in a scorching kiss.  He bit her bottom lip and then swept his tongue into her mouth when she opened it with a gasp.  She could only imagine where this would go if they weren’t standing on a walking path with people coming up behind them.

She pulled back with a content little hum.  “What was that for?”

“You. Are. Perfect,” he stated, his hands cupping her face while he stared into her eyes, “The way your mind works.  How genuine you are.  Your acceptance of who I am.  Just… everything.”  Draco remained at a loss for words, so he grabbed her hand and continued on the path back to the fort for some tea.

After tea, he let her drag him around the inside of the fort, nattering on about the excavations and such, for an hour before he finally admitted to her that he was bored to tears.

* * *

They spent the night just up the way in Haltwhistle, at the place Hermione had reserved.  Hermione talked to the owners of the guesthouse about taking a sunrise ramble and they said they would pack a hamper with some fruit, pastries, and a thermos of coffee.  The wife asked Draco how they took their coffee and Hermione sighed, feeling something between exasperation and adoration, when, like a walking cliché, he quipped, “Black.  Like my soul.” 

It was foggy the next morning, but not enough to deter them when they started out before dawn.  On the contrary, Draco enjoyed the peace the damp air imparted.  As the sun rose, the fog began to lift.  The quiet they previously enjoyed broken by the sound of birds.  They hiked for a few hours before starting the drive home.

Hermione got behind the wheel to get them back to London.  They would stop for lunch, but she didn’t have any other stops planned.  She filled up with petrol before they embarked.  You know what they say about the best laid plans…

“Oooh!  We have to stop to see what the sign said!  Do you see a good place to turn around?”

“No!  No more historical markers!  Do you have any idea how bloody boring they are?  What is your obsession with them?”

“Boring?  History is never boring!”

“Binns.”

Hermione thought about admitting defeat.  It wasn’t technically true that the history of magic was boring, just the professor teaching it was.  She knew countless witches and wizards ended up turned off of the subject because of him.  She felt the need to prove it to Draco.  Which meant she turned the car around to go back to the marker.

“Let’s just see what this one is.  Maybe you’ll really like it!”  Ever the optimist.

It turned out to be about the 303rd Bombardment Group, also known as the “Hells Angels”, from World War II.  Draco hated it and did not stay quiet about it.

* * *

They arrived back at her parents’ home in the early evening.  The Grangers came out to the garage when she pulled the Aston Martin back into its stall.  Her mum asked if they were hungry – they were.  She headed inside to put something together.  Her dad asked Draco about the trip.  Draco almost launched into how much he hated being dragged all over the countryside for history lessons when it occurred to him that at least one of her parents must have imparted a love of history to Hermione, and she’d spent the weekend showing him something special.  She had taken him on a little tour of her childhood.  She hadn’t shared this with any friends or ex-lovers before the Slytherin.

She may be a swot, but he was a complete arse.  He didn’t want to be a complete arse.  He had told her with words that he loved her for the first time less than two months ago.  He wasn’t afraid to declare it privately, both in words and actions.  He considered that the time now came to prove it with words and actions in public.

“I learned about the “Hell’s Angels” when we stopped at a roadside memorial.  Do you know they don’t teach anything about World War II in the wizarding world?”

“What the hell do you they teach you?” Hermione’s dad asked as the two men walked towards the house together.  Hermione heard Draco start to tell her dad about Grindelwald and how as a child his tutor taught him there’d been _some disturbances with Muggles in Europe that were merely fallout from the wizard war of the same era._

Hermione smiled at the men’s backs.  She knew Draco didn’t suddenly change his mind.  He really had been bored as all get out.  That didn’t mean the knowledge wasn’t being absorbed.  His intelligence was sexy as sin to her.

Hermione removed all four charms from her parents’ car, the three she placed and the one her sneaky boyfriend put on.  It occurred to her that the three she placed could be legal, since they would only protect the car and the occupants.  Draco’s, on the other hand…  Well, best not to think about it too hard.  Could there be a market aimed at wizards or witches looking to learn to integrate more into Muggle life which would include a package of her three charms from this weekend?  Tomorrow she would pop into the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry to see about getting the proper forms.  It shouldn’t be too tough to convince Perkins, since the Ministry already added undetectable extension charms to their cars for official use.  Her set of spells would be less of a risk under the Statute of Secrecy than those already in use.  She could stop to see Arthur Weasley while she was in the building.  He still hung pictures of automobiles up in his new (much larger) office as the head of The Office of Muggle Relations; he was sure to be enthusiastic about this idea.


	7. You Are What You Eat (AKA Severus' Legacy)

“Have you ever been to Japan?” Draco asked out of seemingly nowhere upon their return to her flat after their fishing trip.

“No…”

“Would you like to go with me?  I think I could get us a one-day spot on a potion ingredient gathering excursion. We’d spend the morning harvesting ingredients, the afternoon preparing them for the use of students, and the evening in a cooking class.  I’d love to show you the school I attended there.”

Hermione’s head whirled.  Draco went to school in Japan?  When?  Why?

In what appeared to be a tangent, Draco continued with, “Did I ever tell you the little-known fact of Severus Snape being my godfather?  Goes back to when he was still a Hogwarts student and assigned to my father in a sort of mentorship.  Oh, right, I suppose you don’t want to hear about Death Eater initiation shite.  Bollocks.  So yeah… they went way back… close friends.  My parents named him godfather upon my birth,” this constituted the worst verbal diarrhea of Draco’s life and he couldn’t get it to stop.  Merlin’s beard, why couldn’t he just stop talking?

“And Severus always looked out for me.  Pledged an Unbreakable Vow once to protect me.  Not that it did any good in the end.  I’ve often wondered how much guilt one person can handle.  Probably part of the reason why he signed me up for a potions class on the other side of the world.”  It was getting ridiculous now.  He pictured turned his own wand onto himself to cast a _Silencio._

Hermione considered Draco acting so… verbose.  She felt disconcerted, to say the least.  She just wanted her usual quiet, calm Draco back; the one who thought raising **both** eyebrows at the same time too much communication.

“So, will you go to Japan with me?”  There, he took a breath, feeling he could stop now.

“I’d love to.  Just an overnighter, right?  I can be in my office on both Friday and Monday?  I have a huge project I’m working on right now.  I can’t say anything about it yet…  But, I’ll need your help on it too.”  Everything about Hermione’s statement perked Draco back up.  She agreed to go.  He hadn’t scared her off.  And she wanted his help with her work!  He’d tried to push her for more information on the work bit; she just kept pushing back to get him to tell her more about Japan.

* * *

_Draco undertook his eighth year at Hogwarts in as quiet of a manner as possible.  After spending an oppressive summer with his mother barely able to look him in the eye without either tears or pity, or a mixture of both, and his father’s unending speeches about needing a plan.  Malfoys always had a fucking plan.  School turned into the young wizard’s plan - an escape.  He spoke only when spoken to.  So what if that primarily consisted of talking to professors?  His fellow students ignored him, looking right through him.  He kept his head down, working hard to be prepared for his N.E.W.T.’s.  The following summer, not long after receiving his test results, another owl arrived with an unexpected missive.  It seemed that before his death, Severus Snape signed his godson up for a prestigious potions class in Japan.  They’d received a copy of his N.E.W.T. scores and wanted to extend an invitation to their fall 2000 session, a little bit more than a year in the future.  Severus already paid for the class; all they needed was a confirmation.  With nothing better to do with his life, he’d quickly replied yes, relieved to have something to look forward to._

_A year later, Draco left England unsure of what the future held for him, but he knew without a doubt he didn’t want to sit around his manor all day long staring at knick-knacks while sipping expensive alcohol.  The only good to come out of his year of self-exile between Hogwarts and Japan became the decision to pursue the field of Alchemy.  Even before leaving home, he found a mentor willing to take him on for an Alchemical Mastership following completion of the potions class.  The Japanese program didn’t grant a full Potions Mastership, but rather a three-month-long supplemental focus on oceanic and ancient Orient ingredients.  The class stood as a stepping-stone to acceptance into Mastership programs world-wide, boasting a 100% acceptance rate; Draco wondered if he’d have found a mentor without it._

_Hermione knew the term “life-changing” could become cliché faster than a snitch.  She also knew from Draco that his time spent in Japan could only be described thus.  Even beyond what he learned from the war.  Everyone in the program was there on merit, not because of their name, status, money, or influence.  In fact, he told her, no one in the class knew the last name Malfoy.  After having been brought up to believe his last name meant everything, imagine the shock when it meant nothing.  Severus Snape bestowed upon Draco more than a classroom education with this last gift, he’d given him a new lease on life.  Japan came to pass as the place where Draco shed his snake skin.  Kind of.  As much as a Malfoy could._

_Hermione remembered thinking Draco fell off the face of the earth after Hogwarts.  For a while she didn’t even notice, being too wrapped up in her own life.  She lived in Rome for a year after graduation, then returned to England to begin working on building her own business.  When she spotted him at a Ministry Gala almost five years later, the whiskey-eyed witch realized the last time she saw him was while they both sat their Charms N.E.W.T. in the Great Hall.  She found herself instantly curious about where he’d been, but didn’t know whom to ask.  Over the intervening years, she’d discovered he had attained a Mastership.  It was hard to miss after he’d published multiple studies in one of her favorite journals.  Finally, Draco revealed the full story._

* * *

They arrived in Japan early in the morning local time, wearing swimsuits under casual wear, with knapsacks thrown over their shoulders.  Draco spoke a small amount of Japanese from his time spent there.  He kept up with the courtesy phrases - anything for an edge in business deals.  He knew he’d won a contract or two over other international competitors due it.

“Ohayō gozaimasu,” he greeted the witch in the international travel receiving office as they handed off their used portkey – an empty flower pot.  Hermione couldn’t help but wonder why ministry offices all over the world used junk for portkeys.  Obviously, you wanted to use inconspicuous items for travel originating privately – most Muggles weren’t in the habit of picking up random pieces of rubbish.  But, couldn’t they use nicer items when the portkeys never left the inside of government offices?  She cataloged the thought for later investigation.

Draco grabbed his witch’s hand, and apparated to the school, landing just outside the gates.  It was situated on a bay, with an incline on one side leading to some small cliffs, and woods on the other two sides.  In front lay the ocean; two boats tied up and swaying on either side of the dock going out into the sea.  The water appeared peaceful.  All around the school, inside of the wards, were greenhouses.

Draco saw Hermione inspecting the greenhouses as they walked in that direction.  “We grew many of the items we needed for our classes ourselves.  Herbology lessons occurred interspersed with the potions lessons every day.  There are staff members whose job it is just to care for the plants grown on site, but the students were still expected to help with harvesting.  We also went on rambles, searching for native items, learning to recognize them.  Mostly around here, but also other places on the Japanese islands.  Right there is where I saw my first Kappa,” he pointed to where the forest opened up a bit, allowing the sun to dapple the earth beneath.  “We rarely went out on the boats.  Just a handful of times during the term.  Fishing was left up to the day-trippers.  People like us today,” he explained.  Draco had, in fact, already told most of this to Hermione over dinner a few days ago, but gestured to the areas in front of them as he spoke, making it tangible.

The school itself was not large.  A mere 12 students were accepted per term.  A small dormitory with individual rooms containing en suites for each boarder, along with accommodations for staff, took up one wing.  Students mingled directly with instructors and staff at meal times in a cafeteria type setting.  There were six class blocks during the day, six days a week, one for Herbology activities, four with different professors specializing in various aspects of potioneering, and one for independent study.  The building also contained a small library.  In all, that meant only about ten rooms, not counting the dorms.

As they walked up to the main door of the building, a man stepped out.  “O hisashiburi desu ne,” he said with a small bow to Draco.  Draco bowed back, a bit deeper, returning the greeting.  He introduced Hermione to the school’s chief administrator, Hayato Ito, switching to English.  Hermione remembered to also bow at a bit more of an angle than the older wizard, as a sign of respect.

“We will wait here for the other two couples joining you today to arrive.  We’ll head out on the boat immediately, where I will teach you the spells needed to attract today’s catch.  We have three areas to fish; when we drop anchor at the third one, there will be time for lunch before you dive.  There are facilities on the boat, but you are welcome to use the ones here now before we board.”  Hermione listened to him give basically the same speech to both of the other couples when they arrived.

While traipsing down to the dock, Draco reached into an outer pocket of his knapsack and pulled out two vials of a sunshiny yellow potion.  “Anti-nausea,” he offered one to Hermione.  She pulled the cork out and quickly tipped it back.

* * *

The two other couples on the trip turned out to be from South Korea and somewhere in the Middle East; Draco didn’t pay attention to where they said.  Everyone spoke English, but mostly kept to themselves.  Draco felt completely comfortable on the boat.  It was a fairly simple fishing vessel – mostly operating by Muggle means.  It kept sticking to the Statue of Secrecy while out in International Waters easy; the school could never be sure of who may come upon them while fishing in the middle of the ocean.

Hermione watched her perceptions of Draco crumble over the past few years.  Recognizing and acknowledging her own prejudices did not come easy.  Being righteous, always believing her answers to be the correct answers – those came naturally to the witch.  Harry accepted Draco first, and slowly others began to follow.  In a shocking role reversal, Harry prodded and nagged and rolled his eyes at her for months.  Not that Hermione was being outright rude to Draco; she liked to think of her pattern of ignoring his existence as more of a “live and let live” attitude.  Until the day Harry said in a familiar undertone, which he liked to pretend you weren’t meant to hear, but he pitched it _perfectly_ for you to hear him, “More like ‘Live and let die’.”  It took Sir Paul to make Hermione sit up and realize the seriousness of the situation.

How embarrassing, in retrospect.  And not just because Harry took further pleasure in mocking her with horrible nasally imitations of her voice from ten years ago saying things like, “I’m not sure, Harry…” and “Oh Harry, not that again,” behind Draco’s back whenever the blonde was around.  The git who masqueraded as her best friend managed to time it just right, making sure Draco found Hermione flustered and blushing when he looked her way, while the Man Who Lived To Torture Her nonchalantly sipped a drink, looking completely innocent.  The Sorting Hat really should have put him in Slytherin.  Yet, trust Harry to effectively get his point across by reminding Hermione that once upon a time Harry himself had been obsessed with seeing the worst in Draco, while Hermione had been willing to give the Slytherin a chance.

Obviously, Hermione finally gave Draco a chance, and found a man still working on bettering himself, not perfect, but not the boy she remembered from her first six years of school, nor even the shell of a person she vaguely remembered from their Eighth Year.  And now she stared at him as he stood near the prow of the boat as it made its way out to sea, the wind tousling his hair, the rising sun lighting up his face.  Had she ever seen him look so carefree?  Even when playing Quidditch, the look on his face was different from now; the pressure to find the snitch as he concentrated on the win.  She attributed the transformation she witnessed today to the lack of any constraints set upon him by the outside world.  No press or photographers watching him, no one on the boat but her knowing what the last name Malfoy meant, no three-piece suit subconsciously dictating his actions.  It’s amazing what wearing a pair of swim trunks could do for the psyche.

Draco felt Hermione’s hand slide into his and out of the corner of his eye he watched the wind whip her curls around her head in a beguiling fashion.  He continued to drink in the sun rise and the scent of the salty waves as she cast a spell to plait her hair and secure it.  Draco adored the times when Hermione’s hair got as wild as he knew his witch could be.  As the sun shone down on both their faces, Draco began to daydream of ways to liberate her locks.

“The first fishing excursion occurred during my second week of school here.  I’d ridden on a yacht off the coast of Italy before, but you can imagine how Blaise’s boat differed from this experience.  We spent the first two hours learning how to operate the motor, the navigation system, and the sonar as a precaution for emergencies.  I was secretly aghast at the completely Muggle contraption.  I was scared,” he confided quietly, so no one besides Hermione heard him.  “Only a week had passed, but already every day here held something drastically different than anything I understood in my life until that point.  There was the comfort in all of it still being within the magical realm.  Now I was being told we would spend a day basically being Muggle peasants.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed with thought.  “You acted like you never fished a day in your life when we went ice fishing.  Explain,” she quizzed him.

“You’ll see once you learn the spells.  This is experience is fairly hands-off after all is said and done,” he answered.

Two wizards crewed the boat, in addition to the school head being aboard.  The wizard in question, Mr. Ito, walked up them now, holding out two cups of steaming coffee.  “Please join me in the cabin, I will teach you the incantations we will be using today,” he advised them.

The first stop promised the capture of Maguro (Tuna).  The people of Japan began eating tuna over 10,000 years ago; learning that wizards developed a spell specific to attracting tuna left Hermione unsurprised.  Mr. Ito tasked each couple with reciting the incantation together until they landed a fish, insuring three caught today.  He taught incantations to butcher the fish, with the eyes, gills, spinal cord, swim bladder, and pyloric caeca set aside for potion making.  The Kama O Toro (the cheeks) would specifically be separated out for their dinner later in the evening, the rest of the edible pieces saved for the students and staff.  Mr. Ito assured the participants the cheeks were a delicacy rarely served outside of Japan.

The second stop was planned for a spot where Fugu (blowfish) could be caught.  Blowfish were famed for their deadly poison, which is exactly why they were needed.  Healers sought the poison contained in the liver and ovaries for its ability to counter Dark Curses when carefully brewed in the correct potions.  Draco obsessively spent the first two years after finishing his Alchemical Mastership working specifically with blowfish poison in the hopes of removing the Dark Mark from his arm.  His hope of purifying his body (and, he secretly felt, his soul) never yielded the outcome he desperately wanted.  By the third year of his experiments, he fell tired of what he perceived as failure.  His results and similar follow-up experiments were published in scholarly journals beginning just three years ago.  He kept a private lab to tinker with new ideas as they struck him, but he moved on to more successful ventures with his company.  Today, in addition to collecting the poison, they were also tasked with setting aside the flat bones of the fish – prized for their high concentration of gelatin.  Culling of the fish was achieved by sending a sonic wave into ocean.  When the fish puffed up rather than hightailing it, _Accio_ summoned them into the boat.

The final destination entailed modified scuba diving.  The participants wore wetsuits, however, they’d cast bubble head charms, rather than dealing with oxygen tanks.  If all went well, they would return to the surface with Ika (squid), Aka-gai (red clams), and Anago (conger eel).  From the squid, the chromatophores, ink, beak, eyes, all three of its hearts, and suckers needed to be set aside.  In addition, if they caught a male squid, its penis was valuable for use in infertility potions.  Giant squids boasted the second longest penis in the world - prized for the success rate of the potions created with the organ.  Draco couldn’t resist stage whispering to Hermione something about comparing sizes.  She promptly allowed her brain to forget whatever predictable tripe he spouted as she rolled her eyes at him.  The clams donated their shells to be ground up later, and the eels were wanted for their oil.

The first two catches went off without a hitch.  The ease with which they caught their prey and harvested the needed items showed Hermione exactly why Draco came to her a fishing novice.  The witches and wizards accomplished the entire endeavor with magic; nary a hand got dirty.  The enormous tuna had been a sight to behold – they utilized _Leviosa_ to transfer the fish out of the ocean and onto the vessel.  The blowfish elicited a giggle and a remark on how strangely cute they were from the Middle Eastern witch.  The crew dropped anchor at the diving spot just as the sun climbed directly overhead.  One of the Japanese wizards offered a light lunch of miso soup, nimono, and green tea.

Draco once again talked quietly to Hermione, sitting a bit separate from the others.  They both sat on the deck of boat, cleaned of any fish remains with a _Scourgify_.  Draco leaned his back against the rail, his left leg stretched out before him, with his right knee bent up and his right arm draped casually atop it.  His finished food was set aside and he slowly sipped his tea.  He picked up almost where he’d left off earlier in the morning, “I’d never really seen Muggle technology before that day.  Sure, I was aware of airplanes occasionally flying high over our estate from a young age.  However, a sharp rap on my knuckles from my father’s cane assured I never spoke of their existence with anyone after the first time.  I didn’t realize the Hogwarts Express started out as a Muggle train – my parents kept that fact from me.”  Hermione rolled her eyes, but didn’t interrupt.  It never ceased to amaze her when she rediscovered over and over she may be the only person in the world who read _Hogwarts, A History_.  Draco continued, not even noticing, “To suddenly be told I may have to work a motor, and to be shown a two-way radio for emergency communication was a shock.”  He laughed sardonically, shaking his head as he thought of the near boy he’d still been eight years prior.  “I thought about quitting.  As much as I hated the seclusion I’d felt at home the prior year, it was comfortable.  Mr. Ito doesn’t even know it, but he became the deciding factor for me to stay.  As we motored back to the school grounds, he took a moment to smile at me and clap a hand on my shoulder.  He told me how proud he was of me.  _Proud of me._ My own father wasn’t proud of me for nearly giving up my life to his cause, yet an almost stranger voiced pride in me for a bit of fishing?  I refused to let the man down.”  A call to return their plates and prepare to dive interrupted further conversation.

Hermione never tried scuba diving before.  Sure, she’d been underwater in the Black Lake for almost two hours during the TriWizard Tournament (counting the time the four prisoners spent there before the task officially began), but she’d been put in a magical stasis for it, so she remembered nothing.  Draco remained next to her to talk her through it, calming her nervousness.  The six participants practiced their spells one last time before going in.  They would use a modification of a revealing charm once they reached the sea floor, inserting the Japanese name for each creature they sought.  They’d be deep enough to become chilly, so each placed a warming charm on their partner.  The depth also meant filtered light, not true darkness, necessitating wands lit with _Lumos_.  They were instructed to find the clams first, followed by the eels, finishing with the squid.  The clams went in a sack tied to each of their waists.  Eels needed to be placed in a separate container, and then floated to the top.  The squid would be the tricky one; suggested spells included stunners and _Incarcerous_ , while spells like _Bombarda_ were ruled out - no need to worry about damaging the creature.  Once they subdued the squid, the entire team worked in tandem to bring it up to the surface.  It should not be dispatched until everyone exited the water as a precaution against attracting sharks.  The chances of them finding more than one squid was low, as the larger species tended to be solitary.

Once in the water, Draco held Hermione’s hand as they descended.  It looked nothing like the tropical documentaries she’d watched on the tele.  No schools of brightly colored fish flitting about, nor did she see any coral.  When they came to the bottom, Draco, the Arab wizard, and the Korean witch led the way, familiar with the protocol, if not this exact spot, from their time at school.  The clams were scooped up and the bags tied tight once full.  Four eels were found and trapped into the crate before sending it up to the waiting boat.

Then all hell broke loose.

The squid saw them coming before any fired off a single spell.  It shot ink, and then swam straight at them through the murk.  Draco knew they needed to worry about both the tentacles and the sharp beak.  He also knew Hermione would put up the _Protego_.  The unknown factor was how the other four might react.  They fled.  Successfully.  Thanks to Hermione’s powerful shield and Draco’s well aimed offensive.  He’d quickly rejected _Difindio_ as an option, although it may have protected them from the legs and tentacles.  As fast as lightening, Draco’s mind cataloged and dismissed spells until he settled on _Deprimo_.  His aim need not be exact while trying to create a powerful blast of wind underwater, just in the general direction of the beast.  He cast it and the squid was blown back from its advance.  It gave him time to cast a _Confundo_ and _Incarcerous_ in quick succession.  The large creature was now effectively tied up and confused long enough for Draco to turn back to Hermione.

He observed her heaving chest and dilated pupils.  Her wand hand began to shake.  ‘Shite,’ he thought, ‘she’s having a panic attack 100 meters underwater.’  In the Muggle world, this would be classified as a technical dive and necessitate a special gas mixture, but the bubble head charm took care of the issue.  ‘Thank Merlin decompression won’t be necessary,’ Draco thought.  Draco grabbed Hermione around the waist, reached over and took hold of a rope end hanging from the trussed-up beast, and started towards the surface.  Halfway up he felt a tug behind him; he paused to recast the _Confundo_.  With about a quarter of the way left to go, he observed Mr. Ito and the South Korean witch heading back down towards them.  ‘About fucking time,’ he wanted to scream.  He handed off the rope to the wizard and continued up with his girlfriend at a faster pace.

They broke surface and he countered the spell for the bubble over her head before his.  Her panting was now audible.  “Look at me, Hermione.  Look at me,” he begged her to focus her vacant stare on him.  He treaded water, she did same, seemingly on autopilot.  She kept looking around, what she searched for, he couldn’t fathom.  He put his hands on either side of her face, forcing her swiveling head to still.  “Please, Hermione, just look at me.  I’m right here, with you.  I promise you’re safe.  I promise I won’t let anything hurt you.  I promise, love.  Let’s breathe together.  Focus on me,” he murmured to her.  He was familiar with panic attacks, having his own for the first time at age 16.  He’d suffered them frequently, starting the summer before his Sixth Year, continuing for many years after.  Draco knew on some level that some witches and wizards his age might endure them also; he’d never witnessed Hermione in the throes of one.  He continued with his soft words to her, while working with her to sync up her breathing with his controlled breaths in and out, until she no longer gasped, and her pupils returned to their previous size, even as he gently guided them to the side of the boat.

“Let’s get up there, and get you in a towel and maybe have a cuppa,” he soothingly told her when they maneuvered themselves next to the boat’s ladder.  She nodded and turned to grasp a rung to begin pulling herself up.

“I’m so embarrassed,” was the first thing she told him when they stood topside together.

Draco wanted to laugh, not at her, but at the idea her actions contained anything to be embarrassed about.  Instead he calmly said, “Not a single person on this boat is judging you for saving lives today.  Your shield gave the others time to escape, and gave me the ability to take care of the attacker.  If anything, the other four should be ashamed.”  He whispered the last sentence to her, not wanting the others to hear it.

Hermione stood with a large warm towel wrapped around her shoulders and a steaming mug of tea cupped between both hands.  She still shivered, whether it was from the cold or possibly from a mild case of shock.  Analytically, she recognized her own irrationality.  Fear is irrational, though.  She felt a desire to explain herself to Draco, to prove she wasn’t crazy.

“The ink.  It was the fucking ink.  It reminded me of Death Eaters, of the way Voldemort, Snape, and some others turned themselves into wisps of black smoke, flew through the air, and then materialized again.”  Draco knew exactly what she meant, he’d seen his own father do that particular trick, and couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection himself.  Bloody hell.  “Seeing the squid come at us out of the ink,” a shudder tore through her body, “It brought forward memories from the war.  Suddenly I thought I was on the back of a thestral, hanging onto Kingsley for dear life - Voldemort coming straight at me.  But then he wasn’t, he veered off, where did he go, would he return for me?”  Hermione lost Draco when she started in on the bit with the thestral, and oh yeah, _calling_ _her good friend, the Minister for Magic, by his first name,_ but it didn’t take a genius to know this wasn’t the time to ask her to elaborate.  She continued, “I’m not even sure how I managed to cast my shield.  I barely remember anything after the ink,” she relayed this in a quiet tone – no reason to let the people around them in on it.  Draco put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest in a sideways hug, putting his chin on her soaked curls.  There was nothing else he could say to her.  He felt a bit of tension escape her body at his touch.  She let out a large sigh.  Draco let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he held.

* * *

As the boat set course for the school, the other passengers took turns coming up to Hermione and Draco to thank them.  This was, admittedly, new territory for Draco.  He wanted someone to announce, “Thanks to Mr. Draco Malfoy’s cunning use of spells, 50 points for Slytherin.”  Alas.

Only Mr. Ito alluded to Hermione’s evident panic attack, when he offered, “We have calming draughts onboard.”  She shook her head in the negative, politely saying, “Thanks.”

The guests were responsible for carrying the potions ingredients inside to the proper storage areas, while the three school employees took the edible portions to the kitchen.  Any pieces not needed for brewing potions, or parts which couldn’t be eaten, were summarily tossed overboard in the ocean on their return trip.  Hermione followed Draco, feeling better already as her feet traversed solid land.  The storage facilities for the ingredients amazed Hermione.  She noted many rare ingredients, some she’d never heard of before today.

“Your labs are cataloged in similar fashion to this,” Hermione noted to Draco, regarding the full tour the brunette recently enjoyed of his business.

The blonde smirked, “Well, you already realized my labs were not patterned on Hogwarts, yeah?”

She had noticed the difference, although it wasn’t something she’d articulated to him while there.  At the time, she assumed he came up with the changes.  After already spending most of the day appreciatively oohing and ahhing over his company headquarters, she let some things slide.  His ego was inflated enough as it was.  Knowing him, he would have taken the praise and not let on the true source, Slytherin nature winning out.  Two could play at that game.

“Yes, I congratulated Theo on his superior organization skills later that very same day,” she said with a wink.  Hermione honestly had wondered if, as Draco’s COO, Theo Nott was responsible for the high level of orderliness present, along with the overall design.

Draco scoffed, “That wanker would take credit for my ideas.”

Hermione decided it was far too much fun not to correct him on his assumption she was telling the truth rather than teasing.  Playing the long game on this one may yield interesting results when Draco remembered to confront Theo.  She hoped she was present for that conversation.

To Draco’s relief, Hermione seemed recovered from her earlier shock.  The two Brits, plus the four others with them, moved about the storage areas, working carefully to correctly preserve and label the items for the students’ use.

* * *

The visitors were shown to their overnight accommodations and given time to freshen up before dinner.  Hermione still felt tension sitting in her shoulders and neck – the perfect solution proved to be a hot shower, with the water beating down on her as she held tight to Draco’s silky hair while his mouth was buried between her thighs.  He refused her offer to return the favor, telling her he could wait until after dinner.  With a final kiss to his lips before she exited the shower, she promised to make it up to him.

When they met up in the kitchens with the other two couples, they found a chef prepping for their dinner.  An informal sushi bar and cooking area were set up with six chairs and various beverages.  The guests were encouraged to participate in the making of the food, if they wanted.

The first offering turned out to be the Maguro O toro, served as sashimi, with soy sauce for dipping.  Draco moaned when the first buttery-textured piece practically melted in his mouth.  “Oh sweet Circe,” Hermione joined in when the tuna hit her tongue.  Next came thinly sliced squid in miso sauce with rape blossoms.  When served, the clams resembled flower blossoms, starting out white at the base and turning bright red at the pointed tip.  Hermione tended to shy away from eel when eating sushi; she found it too oily.  Knowing the excess oil was already removed, she sampled the roasted Anago set before her.  The sweet sauce paired with it was divine.  The final dish, called Tetchiri, consisted of a hot pot with Fugu, tofu, and vegetables which simmered on the table as they sampled the other seafood.  The chef offered the Tetchiri with ponzu sauce.  Hermione feared she was ruined for life in regards to eating Japanese cuisine elsewhere.

In between the heavenly fare, Draco kept up with conversing about himself, Hermione was enthralled.

“I couldn’t help but think about Severus time and again while studying here.  Some days it drove me round the twist, wondering why he’d gifted this to me.  Was it merely a gesture one should expect from a godfather upon matriculation?  Did he intend to mentor me in the field some day?  He was qualified to grant Masterships.  Or was it as I suspected – a guilt-driven idea to try one last effort to save me?  Eventually I had to let it go and accept what I chose to get out of the experience was more than enough, no matter his agenda.  And yes, the man always had an agenda,” he finished, agreeing with Hermione’s unvoiced rumination.

“I inquired and was told Severus also attended this program.  Not straight out of school, as I did, but rather about five years into his teaching position.  He took a sabbatical for a term to travel here.  My thoughts turned to what that would have been like for him.  A reprieve, perhaps?  Possibly the only one he ever received?  I vowed to make the most of my gift and better the world with it.  I tried, I really did.  Do you think Severus can see me from the other side of the veil?  Is he disappointed in me?”  Draco’s voice was steady, but his eyes belied a moment of vulnerability.

“I promise you that the only thing Severus Snape would find disappointing about you is that you stopped imitating his penchant for wearing all black,” Hermione dryly assured him.

* * *

When Hermione and Draco returned to their room later in the evening, Hermione reminded Draco that she “owed him one”.  As if he would forget her earlier promise.  She commanded him to sit in a chair and shut his eyes.  No peaking.  He heard rustling before he detected a change in his clothing.  She had transfigured his outfit.  Without his eyes open, he guessed that he may be wearing a suit with robes over it.  What in name of Salazar was she up to?  He heard furniture being moved around before she bade him to open his eyes.  His chair was facing a desk and before him perched his goddess on the edge of it, attired as a Hogwarts professor.  He looked to down to find his estimate at his own clothing close to the truth – he sported a replica of his old school uniform, complete with the Slytherin green tie.

“I believe some Slytherin house points and a reward are required after your heroic actions today, Mr. Malfoy,” the goddess he called his girlfriend purred.  He briefly wondered if she were a Legilimens before his other head took over thinking for him.


	8. What Are The Odds?

“You have a current Muggle Passport, right?”

“Yes,” Draco couldn’t help rolling his eyes.  Of course he owned a current Muggle passport.  International business mogul and all.  No, he didn’t use it to do the actual traveling piece, he’d managed to avoid flying on airplanes thus far; he used it upon occasion when out in the Muggle sections of other countries.

“Okay, we’ll need to go to Gringotts to get some Euros **.** Can you meet me there tomorrow during my lunch break?  I have appointments at 10:30 and 1:00, so sometime in between?” she asked.

“I will see you there at noon.  When are you planning to actually tell me what adventure you are taking me on this time?” he questioned with a raised brow and small smile.

Hermione pulled a book out of her bag and handed it to him.  “Read this tonight, and tomorrow I’ll answer any questions you have,” she told him with a smirk.  Draco rolled his eyes, again, because of course there would be a book involved.  And she expected him to read it all in one night.

“Scarne's New Complete Guide to Gambling?” He read the title and flipped it over to glance at the back.

“No questions until tomorrow.”

Draco wasn’t worried about it. Whatever she planned for this coming weekend, he knew it would be interesting.

Draco was familiar with gambling.  What Slytherin wasn’t?  Most of his housemates had money to burn, and winning, at anything and everything, was something they all lived for.  Betting on Quiddtich became passé by the time third year rolled around.  Betting on who would blow up their cauldron in potions (Goyle, Finnigan, and Longbottom were perennial favorites), wagering on what would be served for dessert (invariably some witch would be dared to bet on Spotted Dick by a friend, just to have to say it aloud), progressing to laying odds on who would be caught snogging (or more, by the time they started fifth year) in a broom cupboard on Saturday night, and then after finishing Hogwarts, on who would marry whom, on who would fall pregnant first, and so on.  Draco still had hundreds of galleons worth of open bets, one of which went back a decade (if Pansy ever did decide to marry, a sizable pot had grown regarding the outcome), while others were more recent; he or the other party awaiting the fruition of the wager.  But, this book boded for something completely different.

* * *

 

Draco sauntered up to Hermione as she waited on the steps outside of Gringotts.  He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and asked, “Shall we, love?” as he crooked out his elbow to her.  The Goblins immediately recognized both, negating the need to step into a queue, offering instead a private room, with the only question posed being if they both needed to see their account representatives, or just one of them.

Hermione always felt the smallest edge of nervousness when inside the bank.  She couldn’t place her finger on whether it stemmed from the shudder-inducing memory of wearing Bellatrix’s skin, or the fear of being buried under a pile of gold inside a vault, or the recollection of the terror of climbing onto a dragon’s back.  None of the goblins treated her any differently than any of their other high value clients, as far as she could tell.  Draco assured her he couldn’t see any difference either; she still knew the fact that she stood the only witch in history to successfully rob the bank was _out there._

Both Draco and Hermione withdrew sizable sums from their vaults in the form of Euros, and made sure the special credit cards linked to their vaults, usable at Muggle establishments, were in order.  While all wizards and witches could request some kind of card linked to their account if they chose, the cards Draco and Hermione carried were in fact Dubai First Royale Mastercards - making life very easy for them. They walked back out 15 minutes later and Hermione turned to Draco to ask, “What sounds good for lunch?”           

“Something light, my dinner tonight with the French ambassador will probably entail far too much heavy food and wine.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” she laughed.

“Actually, yes I am feeling a bit put out since you won’t be there with me. I hate attending these things alone,” he whined.

“Well, I can’t very well not attend a charity event when I am on the board, can I? Ugh, our lives are far too complicated.  I’m really looking forward to this weekend.  Ready to make some guesses?  Or rather, some bets on what we are doing?” she giggled at her poor attempt at a joke while Draco just raised an eyebrow at her.

“Let’s eat at that little Greek place.  They have plenty of light options,” he said to get them back on track.

It was only a few doors down, so they quickly found themselves in front of the young witch at the host stand.  She made no move to be subtle in her perusal of Draco’s form.  Hermione couldn’t blame her for looking, Draco looked particularly delectable in his tailored charcoal slacks and light grey button-down shirt, with the cuffs slightly rolled up, his hair somewhat tousled from the light breeze outside.  She rolled her eyes at the obviousness of it. Draco pretended not to notice as the woman faced them while talking, but as soon as she turned to walk them towards their table, Draco looked to Hermione and winked.

“Monte Carlo,” he said without preamble as the hostess walked away.

Hermione sighed.  He was too smart for his own good - admittedly one of her favorite things about him.

“What I can’t figure out is when you would have gone there? And no, don’t worry, I haven’t ever been there,” he confirmed.

“Harry, Ron, and I went there about a week after Harry turned 18, the summer after the war ended, about 3 months after the final battle.  Eighteen is their legal gambling age.  It just felt like the three of us needed to do _something_.  Something different, something fun, something to end our summer on a good note.  It started out as Ron’s idea - something he heard about from Bill and Charlie.”

The server arriving to take their orders cut off her narrative.

Draco ordered a traditional Horiatiki Salata, made without lettuce.  Hermione decided on a dip combination including Melitzansalata, Skorthalia, and Tzatziki served with veggies and pita.  She knew Draco would end up picking at hers, so hopefully it wouldn’t be too much.

“You read the book, right?” She asked once they were alone again.  He nodded. “Well, then you know the variety of games one can chose to gamble on is very different than the side bets wizards place on Quidditch.  It is structured, and you cannot use magic to cheat.  So, get that out of your head right now.  We can try any game you would like once we arrive.  I’m sure you’ll find a favorite or two.  We all did on the first trip.  For Ron, it was blackjack.  Tell me what you learned about blackjack from the book.”

He hated it when she went into “teacher mode” and his exasperated sigh made it abundantly clear.  Yet, he knew the only thing to do was work through it as quickly as possible, otherwise, she gnawed like a dog with a bone.  “Blackjack, also known as 21, is a card game in which you are playing against the house, but you also have variables created by the cards being given to the other players at the table.  The object is to have your cards add up to less than or equal to 21, while also adding up to more than the house’s cards.  There is always a card face-down for each player and the house, while the rest are face up.  Deceptively easy because anyone with the ability to add can play it.  I am sure the Weasel used strategy regarding which table to sit at and then on where to sit at the table, and also the odds of any card coming up to excel at it?” Draco loathed admitting that Ronald Weasley excelled at anything, but he also saw it as unintelligent to deny a clear truth.  The wizard was the best strategist Draco knew.

“Yes, and possibly card counting too,” she conceded.  “Which is also against the rules, so if he did so, he was too good at it to get caught and he never told us either way.  You did see the part about card counting in the book?”

Their food arrived and they immediately offered tastes to each other.  She took a sip of her water and jumped back into her tale, “Ron walked away with quite a bit of money.  Remember, this was merely months after the war ended, so we didn’t have a lot to spend to begin with, but Ron had the least.  He used most of his winnings to buy into the joke shop with George.  Strategic move, huh?”

She smiled at the memory.  Draco cleared his throat to remind her she should keep on talking.  In about another twenty minutes she would have to be back in her office.

“Ok, so I jumped around a lot, I couldn’t seem to decide what I liked.  And then I found the craps table.  Everyone treated me so nicely, and it was fun to roll the dice.  I spent the rest of the first night there and then the next day and night too.  I didn’t win a lot of money like Ron did, although I went home with more than I had to start. Did you understand the chapter in the book on craps?  It has so many different bets you can place, and you can place as many at once as you want.”

She paused to push her plate to his side of the table; she was done and he kept on asking for “just one more bite”.  Right.

“I think I may need to watch it for a few minutes first to feel comfortable with it,” he answered her earlier question.

“And then there was Harry…  Harry took a liking to roulette.  Ron and I teased him endlessly about being an old lady.  I told him he was boring, just sitting there picking red or black or the number seven because “it’s lucky”.  Ron couldn’t shut up about the lack of odds in his favor.  Too bad he didn’t listen to Ron, he lost every knut he took with him.  Well, technically he lost every Monegacque Franc he took since it was the Muggle currency at the time, before Euros, you know.  And before Gringotts offered Muggle credit cards. Merlin, what a nightmare it used to be to travel when every single country in Europe required you to switch currency,” Hermione went off on a tangent.  This time server appearing with their bill that broke her out of the rambling.

“One last thing you need to know, and it probably is the most important thing.  There are video cameras recording just about every inch of a casino, twenty-four hours a day, as well as hallways and the lifts.  The only real privacy is in the public loo or in your hotel room.  The Muggles use these cameras to make sure no one is cheating at any of the games.  They are also for security, since there are large amounts of money changing hands, and going to and from the bank constantly.  Do not try to cheat in any way, you will get caught.  And no using magic anywhere public.  It would be a nightmare for our ministry to try to make the video recording of the magical use disappear.  Understand?” She appeared very serious through this part of her explanation, so Draco gave a tight nod to show he understood.

“I’ll miss you tonight,” Draco murmured in Hermione’s ear while standing outside the restaurant as they gave each other a quick parting kiss. “Good thing Harry will be there to keep me company.”

“I’ll floo over to your place tomorrow night after I finish packing.  Make sure you pack your swim trunks, some casual clothes to wear in the casino or if we go out around the city, some comfortable shoes, and formal attire for dinner both nights,” Hermione listed off.

* * *

 

Draco knew he asked for trouble when sitting next to Harry Potter at any function like this. The man had a way with sarcastic asides; often meaning Draco would choke on food or cough champagne bubbles into his nose at least one time during the night.  Harry possessed perfect comedic timing, and would only say his dry, witty comment loudly enough for Draco to hear.  Which sometimes left Draco looking like a fool as Harry innocently patted him on the back, acting the part of the fucking Savior he was.  The alternative of not sitting by him was to not only end up hopelessly bored for hours, but also to be jealous of whomever sat in his place laughing their head off.

“Wait, Hermione told you that she won a little money and had a fun time playing craps?  That’s it?” Harry’s eyes were a little wide and his jaw slightly slack.  He tilted his head back a let out a barking laugh, his body shaking.  His loud mirth drew looks from the tables around them.  “Oh, that’s rich!“ He finally managed to gasp out as his laughter died down and he wiped an actual tear out of the corner of his eye.

“She was an instant addict!  She wore kind of a sexy little red outfit on the first night…  Don’t give me that shitey look.  As soon she stepped up to the table, all the men noticed her - offering to help her learn to play.  The table attendant even bent over backwards to make sure she was comfortable with the game and gave her some hints.  Of course, it helped him in the long run since a full and happy table meant more tips for him.  Soon a crowd of onlookers gathered - three people deep - around the table, chanting and cheering for her when she rolled.  When she wasn’t the roller, men kept on holding the dice up to her lips, asking her to blow on them for luck.  The table ran hot for a couple of hours straight.  It was pandemonium.  Then the dice went cold.  Lots of people left, but not her.  She felt sure she could win back what she was starting to lose.  A couple of single guys waited, ready to either celebrate with her or commiserate with her, whichever the case may be.  They hung around getting closer and chummier with her as the crowd thinned.  All the free alcohol didn’t help matters.  Ron and I had to _drag_ her back to our room in the early hours of the morning.  When we woke up, she was gone, already back down at the tables.  And that is pretty much where she spent the entire day.  People usually have trouble pronouncing her name, but two days in a row, I watched people yell it out perfectly as they pumped their fists in the air, I watched at least five different dirty old men purr it at her as they held dice for her kiss; one bloke even handed me a room key, ‘to pass on to your friend, Hermione, in case she’s lonely later’.  Blech.” Harry gave a little involuntary shudder.  “She had a pile of about 20 room keys to other men’s, and one or two women’s, rooms when we checked out.  Which we were barely able to do, because she wanted to fit in just a couple more hours at the tables.  Don’t let her near the craps tables, if you know what’s good for you, mate,” Harry finished the most unlikely story Draco ever heard.  Which said a lot, considering Draco’s past.  Another question occurred to Draco now,

“What do you mean by free alcohol?”

* * *

 

“Draco, I’m here,” rang out Hermione’s voice as she stepped out of the fireplace in his flat the night before their departure.  She quickly charmed off any soot before she stepped away to walk into the hall.

She set her suitcase next to his already packed one by the front cupboard, took off her shoes, and left them next to it.  She started towards the kitchen.

“Draco?”

“I’m on the back patio, love.”

“I see you’re all packed.  Did you remember everything I told you to pack?”

“I am not sure why you had me pack anything at all, since from the sound of it, we probably won’t make it any further than the casino floor once you get to the craps tables.”

“Oh gods, Harry opened his big mouth, didn’t he?”

Draco just smirked at her.

“Look, I promise it won’t be the same.  It will be different because we’re together.  I won’t need the attention of the other men there, like I felt I did then.  It had been over a year since I last felt like a woman at that point in my life.  It wasn’t the gambling per se, rather the pure sexual energy running through the crowd.  The _power_ ,” She gave a breathy moan, obviously remembering the feel of that moment in time.

Draco suddenly stared at her very intensely.  In a flash, he was up out of his chair, pacing towards her, pinning her against the patio wall.  “Are you telling me you got off on all of the attention?” he asked as he lowered his head and grazed her neck with his lips and tongue.

“Yes…” she lowly groaned.

He worked down her collarbone, pausing to nip at her as he whispered in a husky tone, “They were all staring at you, worshipping you, wanting to touch you like I touch you.”

“Yes…” she whimpered as he quickly lifted her shirt over her head and leaned down to suck an already hard nipple through her lacy bra.

He stood up straight and pushed her skirt up around her waist, exposing her lacy knickers that matched the bra.  He began to grind his straining erection against her damp core.  She lifted a leg around his waist and pushed back against him, looking to create some friction.  He let out his own moan.

“You took their room keys and gave them hope you would chose to go to one of them later during the night.  You never planned to go with any of them, but they didn’t know, and you could still fantasize about what it would be like if you did.”

“Oh gods… Yes!” she exclaimed as his hand snaked down between them and into her knickers to begin to rub through her slick folds and up to her clit.  He quickly started in on the rhythm and pressure he knew she liked.

Her hands had been running up and down his back, now they dropped to his belt, quickly undoing it and then undoing the button on his trousers, followed by the zipper going down.  His trousers dropped and she palmed his hard member through his boxers, rubbing in time with his fingers on her.  Both were panting now.

He stopped his ministrations on her and she keened at the loss.  Draco swiftly yanked down her knickers followed by his boxers.  He positioned his cock at her dripping entrance, then stopped to look her in the eye.

“When you have all that power again tomorrow, who are you going to be fantasizing about now?  What will you be thinking about when other men are trying anything to get your attention?  When your knickers start to get soaked from the sexual tension around you, what you are going to expect to relieve that tension?”

“You! Draco, please…” she begged.

And he obliged, sliding into her in one long stroke, pulling up her other leg at the same time to wrap both around his waist.  And then he began to set a brutal pace against the outside wall of his flat, not caring if someone might be able to see them.  Truthfully, it would be nearly impossible based upon the location of his flat.

“You. Are. So. Fucking. Hot,” he gasped each word out one at a time between thrusts.  He managed to change his grip on her enough so he could once again get a finger against her clit. As his thumb rubbed her, she began to say his name over and over like a mantra.

“So close, so close, Arghhhhh….  Draco!” She yelled, her back arching, pushing her breasts even tighter against him as she dug her fingernails into his back. He felt her orgasm wracking her body, her warm slick walls gripping over and over around his cock.

As she came down, he stopped his movements long enough to step out of his trousers and to walk her over to the sturdy patio table, large enough to seat 8, while still keeping himself buried inside her with her legs tight around him.  He lay her down on her back, pulled her legs back from around his waist and placed them up on his shoulders.  And then he started up again, going deeper this time than he had been able to in their previous position.

Hermione watched Draco’s eyes turn molten silver; the pupils blown wide with his lust.  She reached up to pull her bra cups down, grab her breasts, and began to pull her nipples between her fingers, working them as he watched her breasts bounce in time with his hips.

“You just love to put on a show, don’t you?” he rasped out.  She didn’t answer, but not because it wasn’t the truth.  She just couldn’t bother to be coherent right now.  He could see the answer in her eyes anyway.

He was getting close now, yet refused to let go until she did again.  It seemed she read his mind when she stopped rolling one nipple to let her hand travel down to pleasure herself.  That was it for him as his balls tightened up and he grunted out her name.  As he came inside of her, he felt her fall over the cliff with him and her walls clenched in time with him, perfectly milking him.

When he was spent, he stayed inside as he leaned his sweat covered body down gently over hers.  He licked his way up her now salty neck to her ear and gently nipped her earlobe before he whispered in it,

“Don’t forget this tomorrow night.”

Then he pulled out with a small hiss, grabbing her hand on his way to standing, and pulled her up with him.  They stood there momentarily and she went up on her tippy toes to give him a searing kiss, before reminding him that their portkey left early in the morning and they should get some sleep.

* * *

 

Hermione woke up earlier than her alarm due to Draco’s head between her thighs.  Normally, she hated missing out on even 15 minutes of sleep in the morning.  She could make an exception for this.  His tongue was doing wonders to her clit.  She whispered, “Brilliant,” as he added fingers thrusting into her.  He crooked his fingers perfectly against her inner wall and she began to buck her hips in time with his hand.  She knew words were coming out of her mouth, but wasn’t sure what ones.  “Draco” and “yes” definitely were in the mix as she clenched her eyes shut and exploded.

When Hermione next opened her eyes, it was to the sight of Draco kneeling up straight between her legs, his erection prominent and the end glistening with a large drop of pre-cum.  He had the most self-satisfied look on his face regarding what he had just done to her.  With a smirk, he showed her his fingers dripping with her juices.  He lowered the hand to his cock and spread the wetness on himself with a couple of strokes.  Then he stopped, reached forward into her to swipe up more of her cum on his fingers and he once again spread it like lubricant on his cock.  He repeated this a few times, until his dick glistened.  He proceeded to wank, never breaking eye contact with her.  She whimpered at the sensual image in front of her, part of her never wanting it to end, part of her wishing he was inside of her with that thick cock instead.  Soon, he was urgently thrusting into his hand; she could see his abs tightening, clenching, as well as his bollocks pulling up.

“Come all over my breasts,” she instructed.  He rewarded her bossiness.  The first spurt actually hit her chin and neck as he yelled, “FUCK!”  The next two landed where originally directed, and the final one drizzled more onto her stomach.

“Good thing I have time for a shower,” she quipped.  He joined her and made her earlier wish come true too.

Once dressed, they grabbed their suitcases and floo’ed to the international portkey office at the British Ministry of Magic.  Hermione walked up to the wizard at the desk to check in for their reservation; he handed her a chipped ceramic fox.

* * *

 

Monte Carlo, Monaco was pretty much all Muggle, with a very small, yet extremely wealthy, wizarding population scattered throughout the city.  The city didn’t boast a separate magical district; the nation of Monaco’s Ministry of Magic office was located on a single floor of a Muggle office building, mixed in with Muggle businesses.  All other magical businesses were scattered throughout the city.  Any building housing a wizard business had strong notice-me-not and anti-Muggle charms set on them.  If a Muggle even briefly registered the magical bookshop next to the clothing store as they walked in, they thought they saw a couple of dusty books, with titles which looked to be horribly boring, displayed in a grimy window, and they felt no desire to shop there.  The wizards and witches in Monaco long ago came to realize that even the wizarding tourist trade in their country was for the Muggle casinos and the beaches, so only stores necessary to meet their own magical needs existed.

The ministry official in Monaco who greeted Draco and Hermione when they arrived in the portkey drop-off area offered them a map with the locations of all of the magical shops, in case they needed it.  They declined the offer as Hermione put the ceramic fox into a special basket for future repurposing.  Walking outside, they hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to the casino where they would be staying for the next two nights.

“The official language here is French, but everyone also speaks English.  And most people speak Italian, as well.  The entire country is only a little over two square kilometers.  The coastline is about 4 kilometers long.  There are only about 37,000 residents in the whole country.  Besides gambling and the beaches, the other main tourist attraction is automobile races.  There aren’t any going on right now, so we can avoid that hassle and the additional crowds,” Draco listened to Hermione rattle off facts and information with one ear, hoping there wouldn’t be any questions to answer, while he stared out the window.

Huge, beautiful, yachts bobbed in the harbor.  Draco had been thinking about buying a yacht for years.  He fondly remembered the one Blaise’s family kept in Italy.  He just didn’t have a good place to keep it, and wondered how often he would even use it.  Yes, he could keep it in Italy or Greece, he owned properties in both places, although neither were presently equipped for housing a yacht.  He mused on his options while imaging Hermione lying on the deck of a boat in a tiny bikini enjoying the Mediterranean sun.

They arrived quickly at their destination.  Draco paid the cab driver, while the bellhop took their suitcases.  The reservation was under Hermione’s name.  She pulled out her passport and credit card for the desk attendant.  Draco loved to watch her reaction to being fawned over when people saw the bank name on the card.  Hermione had not grown up like Draco, with wealth beyond measure and a last name commanding respect amongst wizards in many countries, although her parents were quite wealthy in their own right.  But, the type of service that came with their implied status when they carried this Dubai Bank card amazed to her, and she wasn’t even famous in the Muggle world, unlike in the magical one.  The attendant immediately upgraded the room to the most luxurious suite currently unoccupied.  Champagne and light fare would be waiting in their room.  Hermione declined needing anything else.

“Let’s go up to our room, get settled, have a drink and a bite, and then we can explore the casino.”

“Sounds good to me.  Did I hear correctly, we have dinner reservations at eight?”

“Yes, I figure if whatever is in our room now isn’t enough to hold us over, we can find something around tea time.  It’s only mid-morning, so we have lots of time to make decisions,” Hermione turned to the attendant with their luggage and asked, “Is there a good place to get tea here?”

The suite was nothing less than stunning.  Draco stared out the window at the harbor below, once again daydreaming about being out on the unbelievable blue water in one of the hundreds of yachts bobbing up and down.  He turned at the sound of the door shutting behind the young man who had been taking care of them.  Hermione walked towards him with two glasses of champagne in her hands.  She came up next to him at the window and handed one to him.  They lightly touched the rims together and she said,

“To a luck-filled weekend.” Taking a sip, Hermione hummed in appreciation of the drink before continuing, “What are you thinking?  You were so quiet on the cab ride and now again.”

“I think I want a yacht.  Have you ever been on one?”

“No.  The only boats I’ve been on are cruise ships and that fishing boat in Japan.  Well, there was the boat ride across the Black Lake at Hogwarts when we were little first years, if that counts” she laughed. “I think you can charter fully crewed yachts by the hour or day here.  We can ask the concierge when we go back down, if you like.”

“Yes, I would definitely like that.”

An hour later they hung up their clothes in the closets, using a spell to get out a couple of wrinkles, finished off their drinks and food, freshened up, and found themselves back downstairs in front of the concierge.

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy, we would be happy to book a crewed yacht for you on Sunday for five hours beginning at 10:00.  I will make sure a chef is also provided to take care of lunch for you and Miss Granger.  Please make sure you are ready to check out by 9:30, and we’ll take care of transporting you and your belongings to the harbor,” the woman told him in immaculate English.  He had heard her speaking French to the couple already at her desk when he walked up, and as he walked away he heard her switch into Italian for the man behind him.

* * *

 

Four hours later, they managed to try every game the casino offered at least once.  Draco thought the slot machines were horribly annoying with their flashing lights, loud noises, and mind-numbing button pushing.  He didn’t even want to go near them.  He placed one bet on a roulette wheel, just so he could needle Harry about it when he next saw him.  He chose black, figuring it would be hard to go wrong with his favorite color.  He lost when red came up.  Hermione hedged his bet by placing the same amount on red.  She smirked as she handed him back exactly what he lost.  Blackjack was a better game, and they played together for about an hour.

“Remind me never to play blackjack against The Weasel, I can see why he was so good at it,” Draco admitted to Hermione when they walked away with a bit more money than they started with.

Craps was next, and this worried Draco.  “Are you sure you aren’t going to go crazy on me?” he hesitantly inquired as she stalked around the multiple tables muttering under her breath phrases which sounded like “good vibes”, “cold dice”, “stuck up attendant”, and other things he didn’t catch.  Honestly, she already sounded a little crazy.

Finally, she settled on one, and he watched her begin to work the table.  It was a sight to behold.  Knowing how she was creating sexual tension and feeding off the energy on purpose, just for him, left him semi-hard for the next hour, which felt uncomfortable, to say the least.  It got to the point where he either needed to take her up to their room and ravish her, or he should walk away.  He had started betting too after about 10 minutes of watching and listening, but he wasn’t doing nearly as well as his girlfriend.  Hermione was on a winning streak, so he decided it best to walk away.

“Can you discreetly set an alarm on your wand to go off in two hours to meet me in the lobby?  I want to check out the poker tables, but I don’t want to take you away from this.  If I get bored sooner, I’ll come back here,” he whispered to her.  She nodded, never taking her eyes off the table.  She slipped a hand down against her thigh to touch where her wand sat holstered under her dress to nonverbally do as he asked when he kissed her good-bye on the cheek.

Two hours later Hermione stood in the lobby - Draco wasn’t there.  She waited 10 minutes before she headed to the poker tables.  She found Draco holding court.  He was playing no limit; an amazing amount of chips were stacked next to him.  A small crowd stood gathered to watch the tournament he was in.  Hermione didn’t want to ruin his concentration, so she just joined the crowd to watch him without making her presence known.

Hermione knew the effect she provoked in him earlier at the craps table.  Now, he unknowingly flipped that on her.  She saw the way women were staring at him with blatant lust.  He was gorgeous, obviously wealthy, and right now was a commanding presence.  His current pose in his seat seemed languid and he used his signature drawl whenever he spoke, but the coiled power he exuded laid evident.  Knowing this man belonged to her, and vice versa, made Hermione’s knickers wet.

The tournament quickly drew to a close, with just two players left besides Draco, and one of those hung on by a thread.  On the next hand, the woman went all in and Draco easily won her chips, leaving just him and one other man.  It took a few more hands, but in the end Draco was the last man standing.  At the instant it happened, he looked up straight into her eyes, with a smirk on his lips, and using Legilimency, forced an image into her head of him sweeping every chip in front of him off of the table, grabbing her to hike up her dress, rip off her knickers, unzip his trousers to pull out his rock hard cock, and take her right there on the table.  Merlin, she nearly came from the images in their heads.  How long had the bastard known she was standing there?

“How much did you win?” she asked after he finished up the formalities at the table, and got his chit to turn in at a cashier.  There were still women eyeing him, but only exceedingly stupid ones, since the beyond-heated stare they shared just a few minutes ago should have made Hermione’s claim to him clear.  One even had the audacity to try to chat him up, putting her hand on his arm, before Hermione stepped forward.  The woman pouted at Draco, in what she thought was a sexy manner, as Draco shook her hand off of him without ever saying a word to her.  He simply turned his back on her and walked away.

“Five hundred thousand Euros,” he said negligently, as if the money wasn’t a large amount.  It really wasn’t to him.  “Sorry I didn’t meet you in the lobby.  My alarm vibrated in my pocket, but I couldn’t very well walk away.  I’ll make it up to you.”  She knew he would.

“You aren’t angry about the Legilimency, are you?” he asked after a moment, making sure no Muggles were close enough to hear him.

“Merlin, no!  Not when used in that context!”

* * *

 

They enjoyed a lovely tea at the place recommended to them earlier in the day.  Draco couldn’t help a bit of bragging about his poker prowess.

“It’s like I spent my life training to be a poker player.  Every little twitch of the lips, a rapid blink of the eyes, a finger tap - my survival once depended on reading people’s tells.  And at developing the ability to have none of my own.  The _only_ advantage the other players had was they had all played before, while it was my first time.  Not that anyone believed I just learned about poker from a book three days ago.  It was like taking candy from a baby.” Hermione loved it when Draco used Muggle sayings without thought.

“The first few rounds got rid of the bloke who grinned with fake happiness when dealt a poor hand, the other bloke who tugged his earlobe when he planned to call a bet rather than fold when he should have, the girl who sipped her cocktail to cover her nervousness, and the crazy bloke who called everything, no matter what he held.  And those were just some of the worst.  There is another tournament at 10 tonight I would like to get in on.  Care to join me?”

“Only if we can hit up the craps tables at least one more time either before dinner or after the tournament.  I want to play in the dress I plan to wear tonight,” she said with a heated look at him.

They quickly paid their bill and practically ran back to their hotel room.  To Draco, this was really the major drawback of the Muggle world – apparition was so much better at times like this.  However, the lift doors opened to reveal an empty carriage, so he took advantage of the situation.  He managed to back her into a wall, his erection pressed tightly against her as he palmed her breasts through her dress and licked and bit her neck.  Hermione’s moans filled the small space.

Since their first Muggle adventure, Hermione slowly started to allow small spells and uses of magic when they went on her Muggle dates, as long as they were extremely discreet.  Like the spell on their clothes earlier to press them, or the silent alarms on their wands.  Overall, the point was to experience the Muggle world as a Muggle would.  Draco liked to think Slytherins knew when to _bend_ the rules.  They barely made it out of the elevator before he sent a wandless, nonverbal _Alohomora_ towards the door to their suite - a definite cheat, even if the hallway was completely empty.  Hermione ignored it.

The door shut and locked behind them and Draco pulled her dress over her head.  She ran towards the bedroom, in her black lacy bra, knickers, high heels, and wand still holstered on her thigh.  Draco chased her as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, divesting himself of it, and unbuckled his belt, yanking it out of his trouser loops to drop it on the floor.  His trousers, shoes, and socks didn’t last much longer.  He paused at the foot of the bed in nothing but his boxers, staring at Hermione reposed against the pillows.  Was it wrong that it turned him on to chase her and catch her while her wand remained strapped on her thigh?  Better to not ponder on thoughts such as these too long.

She gazed at him with hooded eyes as she leaned forward to be able to reach behind her and unsnap her bra.  After tossing it aside, she kicked off her heels.  The sight of her wearing nothing besides her knickers and wand meant he was a now as hard as steel.  He slowly lowered his shorts, watching as her eyes dropped down to watch their progress, her tongue unconsciously darting out to lick her lips.

All she could think about was tasting him.  She went to her hands and knees, and crawled towards him, never taking her eyes off the prize.  Her tongue snaked out and she licked just the tip of him, letting her eyes come up to his to see his reaction.  His eyes were closed and his head thrown back, with his mouth wide open.  Was he even breathing?  Nope, his big intake of air a moment later answered that question for her.  As he let out the breath, he moaned.  She went to work on him with the hopes of eliciting more moans.  She did that and more, as he came deep into her throat with a shout.  He took a moment to pause after he finished, before picking her up by her armpits and throwing her down onto her back in the middle of the bed.

He ripped off her knickers, leaving her holster strapped on.  Draco never once said a thing aloud about her keeping it on, but he didn’t need to.  Early in their relationship, she had noticed the way his eyes hungrily darted to it and the way his body would react as he grazed his fingers against it as he rubbed up and down her thighs.  She didn’t wear it often, usually only when she wore a dress or a skirt without pockets when out in the Muggle world.  She let him keep secret whatever fantasies flitted through his head at the sight of it.  The end result was what mattered to her.

She was past the point of needing foreplay and he knew it.  Draco dove between her legs like a man with a mission.  A mission to make her scream.  He latched on to her clit with his mouth, while two fingers quickly filled her.  He set a rhythm with his fingers only broken by occasionally pulling them completely out to swipe them against the tight bud of her arse.

She fell into a litany of saying, “Merlin, Nicneven, Circe, Draco, Cernunnos, Morgana, Draco, Diana, Hecate, Draco!”  She was such a swot, even while in throes of passion.  Draco loved the heady feeling of his name mixed with gods and goddesses.

When she came apart for him, the only name leaving her lips was his, over and over.

“On your hands and knees, love.  I have a feeling neither of us is going to last long and I’m in a mood to dominate you.”  That damn holster.

She quickly complied and he rubbed his thumb continuously against her rear entrance while he pounded into her wet, tight pussy, holding onto her hip with his other hand.  It was only minutes before she clenched down on him, screaming once again in ecstasy, and he moved his hand from her arse to grab onto her thigh, her wand directly under his hand as he buried himself deep into her.

The ensuing shower didn’t turn into anything else, the two of them were too spent to do more than languidly wash each other.  Hermione took great pleasure in Draco massaging her scalp as he worked conditioner into her curls.  Afterwards, she put on a matching set of silver knickers and strapless bra, pulled thigh high stockings up her delectable legs, and then strapped her holster and wand back on her thigh.  Draco knew she doing all of this in front of him much slower than needed.  His cock twitched inside the trousers he’d already put on.  He was just doing up his belt and the temptation to pull it back out of the loops was strong.  He glanced at the clock on the bedside table and pouted.  Not enough time.  Instead, he worked on putting on his cufflinks as his erection grew.

Hermione shimmied the deep green dress up over her hips with her back to Draco, confident he was watching her arse.  The hem came down just far enough to cover the lace at the top of her stockings and hide her wand.  She pulled the halter straps up around her neck and then turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, “Care to help me by holding my hair to the side while I button this?”

He strode across the room, picked up her hair with one hand, while his other arm snaked around her front, his fingers splayed against her stomach, pulling her arse back onto the prominent evidence of his arousal.  She found herself having trouble doing the buttons as her mind went blank at the feel of his breath on the nape of her neck.  He chuckled.

“Later, kitten.  We need to leave for dinner.  We no longer have time to hit up the craps tables before we eat, so we’ll roll some dice after we play poker.  Which means we definitely don’t have time for this,” he purred the last few words as he rolled his hips against her.  And then he released her and walked away to put his tie and shoes on.  He completed getting ready in less than five minutes.  She took another ten more minutes beyond him to perfect her look and put a charm on her heels to make them comfortable for the next who-knew-how-many hours.

* * *

 

Hermione did not last as long as Draco in the poker tournament.  At least she didn’t go out to Draco.  He would have never let her live that down.  It was to a man who looked to be about sixty; he offered to give her extra pointers after the tournament ended, if she cared to stick around.  She raised an eyebrow at his suggestion of a private tutelage session and politely declined.  The casino was busier at this time of night, and the number of people who bought into this tournament was higher than the one earlier in the day.  Although it took longer, Draco still ended up winning.  He walked away with nine hundred thousand Euros.  Before he left, he put his name down for an additional tournament tomorrow night with an expected take of 1.5 million Euros.  The dealer assured him it would fill up by the afternoon, so better to get in now if he wanted.  The dealer earned himself one of the most generous tips he ever received from a customer.

Hermione suggested they see the cashier with both of Draco’s winnings chits before they do anything else.  Hermione explained to Draco how he wouldn’t be able to walk out of the casino with that much money in cash; he would need to have it wired to his bank account.  Draco had no idea what a wire was.  Hermione realized it would have to go into her Muggle bank account at Barclays to be transferred to him later.  They gave Hermione’s bank info to the cashier when they got there, and suddenly Hermione had 1.4 million extra Euros to her name.  Draco just shrugged after they walked away and told her if it was going to be a problem to move it around, she could keep it.

“I would probably end up spending most of it on you anyway.  Maybe we can find some nice jewelry for you in a shop tomorrow.”  Hermione would never get over how blasé he could be about money.

The two moved on to craps.  Hermione felt a bit knackered by this point, but perked back up when she saw a table that met her strict criterea – an energetic, joking attendant, a high ratio of men versus women (there were only two women there, both looked to be married to the men they were standing next to), lots of alcoholic beverages in hand, and hot dice as evidenced by chips stacked all around, the continuous shouts, and the non-stop rolling of the current bloke. 

She and Draco waded in and started to lay bets.  Hermione preferred to always play the hard eights as one of her side bets.  They both laid a few other random bets out on the table, waiting to make their “real” bets after the current roller crapped out and the next roller took over.  Which happened fairly quickly.

Both put money down on the pass line, knowing this table offered double odds if you chose to take it after the point was established.  They planned to take advantage of it.  They also both put money down on the come line.  Once again, they planned to take those odds on when play started.  Hermione, of course, put money back down on the hard eight.  Draco decided to mimic her and put money down on the hard six.  They were using the pass and come lines to hopefully make some sure money on a hot shooter, wishing to get lucky on big odds on their 6 and 8 bets.

“Let’s give these dice to the gorgeous lady who just joined us, what do you say?”, the casino inquired of the table.  Everyone seemed happy with the idea, some realizing it would be a way to stare down her evident cleavage when she leaned over the table to grab the dice.  Hermione glowed with the attention from the table and with the attention from Draco putting a hand on the small of her back.  “Good luck!”

Draco stared at his girlfriend in awe.  She was easily the most beautiful creature in the casino.  He could see a tiny bit of magic sparkling in her hair as she began to roll.  After she established a point of five, the two of them began to play their strategy of taking the odds on both the pass line and come line.  As Hermione continued to roll, they took their winnings from the come line and immediately bet on it again over and over.  Hermione was on fire, rolling again and again.  On the seventh roll, she hit the hard eight and yelled with joy.  On the ninth roll, she hit the hard six and Draco shouted out, “Hell yes!”  On the fifteenth roll, she hit hard eight again.  Many people at the table had followed her lead to place bets on it after the first time she won on it, so a collective cheer of, “Hermione!” went up around them.  Her eyes were bright and she couldn’t keep the grin off of her face as she rolled again.  Yes, she was happy with winning the money, but Draco didn’t miss the way she stole glances at the men around them as they blatantly stared at her.  He once again found himself in the position of getting hard in public.

She finally crapped out on the twenty-second roll, after hitting the hard eight an unbelievable third time. It was an awe-inspiring run, making most people at that table very wealthy.  Hermione received some high-fives, some fist bumps, and one hug from an over-eager Italian kid.  The bloke’s face was red when his mate pulled him off her, whether with embarrassment or desire, Draco wasn’t sure.  Draco didn’t miss the Cheshire Cat grin on Hermione’s face after it.  He was about to grab her hand to take her to their room in order to have his way with her, when suddenly he heard,

“Let’s offer the dice to Hermione’s consort, shall we?  Think he’s as hot as her?”  Draco smirked at the man in charge of the table, who sent back an audacious wink his way.  Hermione snorted out a not-at-all dainty laugh.  Draco laid down his bets with the same pass line and come line strategy as last time, deciding to forgo the hard bet.  Instead, after his first roll to establish the point, he put money on the 5, 6, and 8, taking advantage of those odds.  He didn’t think he would be as lucky as Hermione.  The blonde was correct. He crapped out on his sixth roll.  Now it was definitely time to take their winnings and call it a night.

* * *

 

Hermione awoke the next morning feeling deliciously sore.  She lay on her side, nestled on Draco’s shoulder, the arm under her wrapped around her shoulder.  Her top leg was thrown across his hips.  She could feel his morning erection under her thigh.  She slowly slid out from under his arm and moved her body across his to fully straddle him.  She reached down to align his cock with her entrance and slowly worked her way down onto him. He smiled and said, “Morning, love,” without opening his eyes.

Afterwards, they ordered breakfast in, which Draco collected at the door in his robe.  Hermione was still in the shower, emerging afterwards to find everything set up on the terrace, Draco sitting with a cup of coffee in hand as he waited for her.  They shared the fruits and pastries straight off the serving platters, not bothering with individual plates.

“Let’s walk down the beach a bit before we hit the tables again.  You can stare at the yachts and I can work out some of the soreness in my hips and thighs,” Hermione said without a trace of embarrassment regarding why she felt sore.

On their way out, Draco stopped by the concierge desk to get advice on where the best jewelry stores were located.  The same woman who helped them yesterday pointed out the excellent one inside the casino, while listing a handful of others for him, and then handily circling each on a map of the city.  She clearly remembered how well Draco tipped.

* * *

 

They returned to the hotel a few hours later, with sun-kissed cheeks, dreams of yachts in Draco’s head, and bags from three different jewelry stores, Pomellato, Ciribelli, and Bernasconi Gioielli, in Hermione’s hand.  With each purchase, Hermione tried to pay using Draco’s money in her bank account.  And each time he waved her away like an annoying child while he pulled out his Dubai Bank card.  Hermione never stood a chance against his charm over each store’s employees.  Frankly, they looked at her like she was ridiculous when she tried to pay.  At least she managed to buy him a pair of cufflinks using “her” money.  It felt like a hollow victory.

“Ok, a quick stop in our room to drop off bags and freshen up.  Don’t try any funny business with me once we’re up there.  I want to get back down here, eat a quick bite at that little Italian café, and then get in on a tournament starting in an hour.  Will you join me, or will you be shooting dice?”

“I’ll join you.  I told you I didn’t think it would be the same as when I came here before, and yesterday proved me correct.  I don’t really want to play alone.”

“We’ll see how long it takes me to win this tournament, maybe there will be time to hit a craps table before tea.”

“Cocky bastard, aren’t you?”

Draco just gave her his best blank look.

Four hours later, Hermione found herself depositing seven hundred thousand Euros into her Barclays account.  In what alternate universe did she have an extra 2.1 million Euros in her bank account?

“Our itinerary for the rest of the day is as follows.  We head to tea now, we enter the poker tournament starting right after, you win another obscene amount of money, we head upstairs to have a quick shag to take the edge off before we dress for dinner, we eat some amazing food, you go to the last tournament of the night that your name is already in, we go get ourselves even more sexually worked up at the craps table, culminating in us shagging each other senseless.”

“I love it when you’re bossy.”

Three hours later, Hermione furiously rubbed her clitoris while she rode Draco in a reverse cowboy.  To Draco, it felt like she was having one long continuous orgasm.  There were peaks and valleys, but her walls kept clenching at him, just varying in intensity.  She was making an obscene amount of noise.  He had been trying to hold back, to see how long she could go on like this, but when she commanded, “Spank my arse,” he obliged while thrusting his hips up hard.  After his first slap and thrust, he was a goner, getting out just six more of the same before Hermione read his body language perfectly and taking her fingers off herself, she quickly moved them down to press firmly on his perineum.  Draco swore he saw stars.

“That definitely took the edge off.”

* * *

 

Hermione wore one of her new necklaces and also some new earrings to dinner.  Her gold dress was Grecian in style.  She loved the way it draped on her and seemed to flow when she walked.  Draco wore his new cufflinks.  In addition to her small clutch, Hermione also carried a book with her.  She planned to do some reading while sitting on the sidelines of the poker tournament.  She knew it could be a couple of hours of slow action until they got down to a final table.

They finished dinner a little earlier than expected, so they stopped in the Chopard Boutique to see the jewelry on offer there.  Draco bought Hermione an exquisite cocktail ring and she didn’t even try to argue this time.  She’d devised a new plan.

Hermione watched the players at each table for a while, mentally cataloging funny tells she caught in order to share them later with Draco.  One utterly disturbing woman cleared her throat with a “hem hem” whenever she bet low with the hope someone else would be suckered into raising, which she would then call and re-raise.  A portly man picked his nose.  Hermione conceded that at least he didn’t put his finger in his mouth afterwards, so it could be worse.  Those were the type of people who were out early on.  It was the ones who only flared their nostrils slightly when dealt poor cards, or ran the just the tip of their tongue along their lips in anticipation when their cards were exceptionally good who stayed in longer.

Draco knew the crowd would be bigger tonight because the winnings were bigger.  But this crowd seemed too big.  During a ten-minute break for people to use the loo, he said as much to the bloke sitting next to him- an American.  He laughed,

“You really don’t know, do you?  They’re here because of you.  Word has spread about how you have won all four high stakes tournaments you entered in the past two days.  About how you make it look so easy, although you claim to never have played for a minute before yesterday, and you learned how from a book the eye candy on your arm,” he paused to look at Hermione, “gave you on Tuesday.  Doesn’t hurt that the ladies like the looks of you, too.”

Draco thought every American may be a Griffyndor considering their bluntness.  He raised an eyebrow to the man and asked, “And what’s your opinion?”

“I’ll admit you are rather handsome, but you aren’t my type,” again he glanced at Hermione as he made a dry joke.  “If you’re referring to your poker abilities, my opinion is, I don’t give a fuck.  My only concern is how to beat you here and now.”  With that, the game was back on.

It turned out the American’s tell was Hermione; he would inadvertently glance at her just before doing something reckless.  It seemed like he could sense Hermione was a kindred reckless spirit.  Bloody Gryffindors.

* * *

 

This time when Draco won, the image he sent to Hermione when he caught her eye was similar to the one from yesterday, except he bent her over the poker table with her chest pressed against it as he took her from behind, in addition to two fingers disappearing into her arse.  She let out an involuntary gasp.  When he stood up, he pushed his hands deep in his pockets; she smirked at the realization he was just as affected as her.

They took his eight hundred thousand Euro chit from the previous tournament along with this 1.5 million Euro one to the cashier once again.  And once again it all went to Hermione.  Having an extra 4.4 million Euros in her bank account didn’t seem so scary with a plan in place.  Although, it was still unnerving that Draco didn’t seem to care about them at all.

She chose a craps table surrounded by a group of obviously drunk business men, along with three college age boys who couldn’t have been more than 19.  Hermione momentarily flashed back to her previous trip there with Ron and Harry when they were that young.  She decided to concentrate her flirting on the boys.

Draco watched in fascination as she drove all the men at the table spare.  The boys ate up her hair-flips which pulled attention to her delicate neck.  They couldn’t stop their eyes being drawn to her lips when she coyly sucked on the straw in her drink.  All of them went a little red in the face whenever she leaned over the table.  He hid a genuine smile behind the rim of his highball glass while sipping his drink at the sight of one trying to adjust an erection, hoping no one noticed.  Hermione made it obvious she noticed by turning to grab Draco’s arm and suggestively rubbed up and down the length of it a couple of times while she made eye contact with the poor kid.  Draco nearly spit out his drink.

Meanwhile, whenever one of the businessmen held the dice in hand, they insisted she lean over and blow on them.  When they thought Draco wasn’t looking, they took turns slipping her their room keys.  The silver-eyed man found the escalating dynamic at the table very interesting.

Draco started betting very conservatively, only because he didn’t want to have to pay attention to the table.  The real show was around him.  Hermione acted the opposite, almost flamboyant in her bets on hard six and eight, and proposition bets.  Draco wondered if she picked these merely so she could say the words “hard” and “proposition” over and over.

Draco was enjoying himself, but he was getting tired, too.  It had been a long day.  When the dice next fell on seven, he suggested to Hermione that they go.  A collective groan went up from every man around them.  While Draco collected their chips, he heard a couple of the older men remind her of their room numbers.  Hermione blew a kiss good-bye to her boys.  They took their chips to the cashier and got Euros back in exchange for what they wanted to carry in cash, and put the rest into Barclays.  Draco considered it might be time to open a Muggle bank account. 

He smirked when she threw all of the collected room keys in the trash as they waited for the lift.

When they made it to their suite, not a single item of clothing made it fully off their bodies before he took her from behind, over the table in the dining area, doing exactly what he had shown her in their minds at the poker table.  She clamped down almost painfully on his fingers when she came.  He came hard and fast in her slick pussy, while imagining his cock in place of the fingers in her arse.  They finally divested themselves of their clothes and got ready for bed.  He found himself slowly making love to her one last time in the dark before they fell asleep.  There were lots of sweet kisses, light caresses in the places they knew best on each other, and whispers of “I love you” as they both climaxed one last time.

* * *

 

They made it to the yacht a bit before 10:00, with their suitcases packed, ready to be stowed in the master suite onboard.  Hermione wore her crimson red bikini with a cover-up dress over it, strappy sandals, sunglasses, and a floppy straw hat.  Her hair fell in loose, gentle curls today, and was being ruffled by the breeze off the water, which was just enough for her to keep a hand on her hat.  She looked like a model, Draco mused.  They met their captain, crew, and chef for the excursion.  One of the crew members offered them drinks.  Both wanted to start with mimosas.  The chef asked them some questions about their likes and dislikes and made certain neither suffered from food allergies.  Finally, the captain offered them a tour of the vessel.

Draco hung on the man’s every word and asked about a hundred questions.  Draco had divulged in the beginning that he was considering buying a yacht, so the captain was very patient and went above and beyond in explaining many things he normally wouldn’t.  When Draco finally exhausted himself of every detail he could think to gather, he excused himself to go to the loo.

Hermione quickly turned to the captain and said, “I want to surprise my boyfriend by buying him a yacht today.  I am looking at about the 4 million Euro range.  Could you or one of your crew members help me line up some for him to look at when we return to shore?  I can confirm all bank account information the seller would need right now so there won’t be a question of where the money is coming from when we complete the transaction.”  The captain agreed one of his crew members would start to work on the details immediately for her.  They would check in with her sporadically whenever she could get a few minutes alone.

Draco was having one of the best days of his life.  Sunning himself with Hermione in her little red bikini turned out just as he imagined it.  They sipped cocktails, ate a wonderful meal, quietly read books while lounging, not needing to fill the silences, and just relaxed.  At one point in time, Draco even went below deck to lie down for a 30 minute nap.  Hermione seemed to use the loo a lot more than usual, but she also kept on talking about staying hydrated in the hot sun, so he really didn’t think anything of it.

Hermione looked at pictures and features of different yacht choices every time she went to “use the loo” and while Draco napped.  By the end of their tour, she narrowed it down to three.  They would all be waiting at the pier when they docked.  She was practically buzzing with excitement.  She knew Draco would tip the crew and chef handsomely for their time and effort today – that didn’t stop her from slipping a little something extra to the girl who had spent nearly four hours helping her with this side project.

Draco was shocked, to say the least, when there was a salesman with three yachts waiting for him to look at when they stepped foot back onshore.  Hermione just looked at him smugly.  Any of the three boats would be perfect, he realized after touring them.  Hermione definitely paid attention to his conversations earlier in the weekend, and also to his questions with the captain that day.  Her smug expression turned into nearly an evil grin when, after indicating which one he preferred, the broker handed paperwork to Hermione and she signed for a transfer of funds from her Barclay’s account to purchase it.  He had meant for her to spend that money on herself!  He almost blurted out she was a ‘sneaky Slytherin’ in front of the Muggle.

“What shall we do with your new yacht?” the broker asked, once the paperwork was completed.

Draco quickly thought of the perfect answer, “Please keep it here for the next month, I will pay whatever fee is required.  At that time, I will require a temporary crew to take us from here to Italy, one way.  In the meantime, I will make preparations to keep it permanently in Italy near property I own there.  I will have my personal assistant email you full details later this week.”  Turning to Hermione he smiled and raised an eyebrow, “Care to join me next month for a week in Italy?”

 


	9. Take The Long Way Home

“So, what do you think?” Hermione asked Draco nervously after he finally looked up from the parchment he held.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea, love,” he answered sincerely.

Draco had woken up with a shite-eating-grin on his face and it remained plastered there _all damn morning_. When he couldn’t wipe it off after arriving at an 8:00am Malfoy Inc board meeting, Theo’s left eye began to tick. Too much overt happiness made Draco's former dorm-mate tetchy. Shooting Draco a look of disdain, Theo avoided him at the end of the meeting, as the reedy man skittered out the mahogany door of the boardroom, escaping to his office.

Draco contemplated following Theo, to surreptitiously show off his elated state under the guise of following up on some meeting points.

 _Nah, what was the point in that?_ He shrugged his shoulders to himself as he moved down the hallway to his own office instead. Hermione’s influence definitely made him softer.

Hermione’s influence also often caused more facial expression than anyone was used to seeing on Draco, but usually she was at least lying naked beside him when his day began in this state. He had woken up alone in his flat; his girlfriend had needed to spend a portion of the previous night in her office, taking an overseas conference call, then she had gone to her own flat in the wee hours of the morning to catch a few hours of sleep.

She had invited him to her office to make good on her promise to involve him in an idea she had been mulling around. When he walked into her office at 11:00 that morning, his palms were a bit clammy. For the life of him, he could not figure out why he was _nervous_.

That was utter bollocks. He knew _exactly_ why he was nervous. What if he couldn’t follow her thought process?  What if she huffed that little noise she made when she realized she was going to have to dumb down an explanation… before she proceeded to slowly explain her invention to him. The blond would be completely humiliated.  He had seen her do it enough times to others in similar situations. But never to him.

He was so fucked. Yet, there he was walking into her office, still wearing that damn grin.

The reveal of a few pieces of parchment containing Arithmancy equations, runes, an incantation, and a description of wand movements, accompanied by a rough sketch, would have been anti-climactic for most. The sheets were messy, with ideas scratched out, and runes discarded, until one rune near the bottom of the first page was heavily circled along with another on the top of the second page.

‘ _Oh, thanks the gods_ ,’ was his first thought when he made it to the fourth, and last, page. He wasn’t fucked after all. He would not be so presumptuous as to declare he could follow her thought process from beginning to end, but he _could_ understand the final version of the underlying magic behind her creation.

‘ _Say something.  Anything_ ,’ Hermione had silently willed the man before her, as her boyfriend flipped through the scribbled parchment. The brunette was an anxious wreck.

She felt sure the quiver in her voice when she’d asked him for his thoughts registered on the Richter Scale.

Relief raced through her when he called it brilliant. The trust she was showing by letting him into her inner sanctum wasn’t going to backfire. He wasn’t being dismissive of her idea. Genuine interest showed on his face, and he didn’t look confused.

* * *

Two weeks ago, Hermione had sat down at a Muggle café with George Weasley and asked him how he’d done it. It meaning, how had he decided to let her in all of those years ago? She knew it wasn’t a small thing to be asked to invent with him, to help him, to take up a small bit of the burden of Fred’s death. 

George had sighed before reaching across the table to take her hand.

“You saw me. I mean you really saw _me_ for the first time. Don’t take that wrong,” he had pleaded as his thumb rubbed small circles on her hand, stopping her protest. “Because, I have to admit that it was the first time I really saw you, too.” Hermione had snapped her mouth back shut.

She had stared into George’s eyes, seeing how vulnerable he could still be, even eleven years later. She had also seen the children they used to be, and the adults they were forced to be. Those young adults were _so young_ , in retrospect.

“Thank you,” was the only response she could formulate, and it had come out sounding choked. There was a reason she had been avoiding this conversation with him for _years_. Not that he’d seemed eager to engage her in it either.

His lips had quirked into smile, albeit his eyes had still looked a little too bright. “No, thank you, love. I think Fred would consider it all a huge joke, you and I inventing together, if he was watching from the other side. But, we were good for each other. You know I miss it sometimes, being creative with you by my side. Remind me again why don’t we do it anymore?”

Tilting his head to the side, he had regarded her carefully.

The last time they had collaborated was just before George married Angelina. Breaking eye contact, Hermione had attempted to avoid him seeing her guilt. She also had tried to withdraw her hand from his. The situation had begun to feel inappropriate. Stubbornly, he had tightened his grip.

“We promised to always be friends, Hermione. I think we’ve done a fine job of it. Even with the number of times I’ve stuffed a foot in my mouth.”

“You can’t overcome what is _obviously_ a Weasley genetic trait.” She had finally met his eyes again, a smirk on her lips.

He had rolled his eyes in return.

Giving her hand a firm squeeze before letting go, he had changed the subject. “So, you really are letting the Ferret in?”

She had shrugged.  “I guess so.”

George had leaned back in his chair. “You’ve decided that you _see the real Draco Malfoy then_.”

“I had a panic attack in front of him a little while back,” she had blurted out.

Eyes widening, George had given a small start.

Bravely, Hermione had continued on. “I haven’t had one in ages. You know I don’t even keep anything around to deal with them anymore. He knew exactly what to do and talked me down from it.”

Her Gryffindor courage had fled, leaving the next words she wanted to say unspoken. She wanted to ask George if he still suffered from them. Did he still avoid mirrors? Did he still self-medicate? Did…

The redhead had interrupted her inner thoughts. “Angie’s good like that, too.”

* * *

Back in the present, Draco was looking around her office. “Do you have a prototype yet?” he asked, not finding one.

“No, just that lousy sketch there, showing where I think the runes need to be etched to hold the charm in place. I thought maybe we could work on it together on your yacht while we vacation?”

An utterly _Hufflepuff expression of joy_ lit up Draco’s face again - he could feel it. Salazar’s staff, this woman really would be the death of him. Slowly, but surely, she was squeezing the Slytherin right out of him.

When he just stood there, all dopey, she continued speaking. “I mean, it should be obvious I’m making this for you, right? Of course, I still plan to put a copyright on it and market it, but it is a fairly niche product. I want it to be perfect for you, though. Everyone else is secondary.”

“For Merlin’s sake Hermione, stop rambling. It's brilliant. You're brilliant. Yes! I want to work on creating the first ever self-sharpening pencil case with you,” Draco nearly shouted in exasperation.

He glanced again at the notes that showed a crudely drawn picture of a tin case full of sketching pencils that would automatically sharpen any pencils inside of it when the lid was closed tight, and then banish the residue.

* * *

The Portkey trip to the Ministry in Monaco was uneventful. After stepping outside, the two lovers hailed a cab to take them down to the harbor. Draco’s yacht was waiting for them, completely stocked up for the three-day trip they planned to take to Italy. At first, Draco had planned an entire week on the boat, but then he realized he wanted to spend a bit of time in Italy with Hermione. The updated plan meant they would dock at his home on the Amalfi Coast and dismiss the crew. His personal assistant had lined up the same Italian company that took care of Blaise’s yacht, and a few others for witches and wizards residing along the Italian coast.

The company liaisoned with the Muggle broker Hermione used to buy the yacht, hired a temporary crew made up of wizards and witches to take the boat on the one-way trip, and built the necessary facilities in the cove below Draco’s cliff-side villa to house the yacht. Strengthening the anti-Muggle wards to make sure  would remain hidden had been the final step. The property had been in his family for generations, so the home already had charms placed upon it, but it was recommended the charms spreading out into the sea get updated to make sure no one else would decide it a good spot to drop anchor now that it wouldn’t remain empty.

Masquerading as Muggles, the ship's crew awaited them. The only actual Muggle present was the broker, to once again thank them for their business and insure they were satisfied with his service. As the yacht pulled out into the Mediterranean, Draco breathed a sigh of relief, silently thanking Merlin for his very efficient assistant and the specialists he’d found in Italy to help this go smoothly.

“After we dock, I will have to spend an hour or so with my representative from the Italian yachting firm, going over changes I may want to make to vessel.  They said that they can retrofit nearly anything to magical specifications,” Draco told Hermione after they’d re-toured and reacquainted themselves with the luxury craft.

Tracing her hand along a smooth wooden rail, she said, “I’ll let you know if I think of anything to add to the list."

* * *

“I’ve been thinking we should do a summer solstice ritual here on the boat on Monday. What do you think?” Draco asked Hermione over dinner that night. It was Saturday, so if she said yes, they could still have a day to plan. Not that he wanted to do anything elaborate for just the two of them. He didn’t plan to include the crew. In fact, maybe he would send them ashore for a few hours…

“What would it entail? I’ve never taken part in one before,” she said, leaning towards him, full of curiosity. “I mean, I’ve read a bit about some rituals that can be done. But, I’ve never even talked to anyone who’s participated.”

Draco couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. “Add another reason to the list of why people used to call the Weasleys blood traitors.  Don’t they celebrate any of the old traditions?” He had also started to sneer, but quickly wiped it back off - bad habits died hard.

Hermione took a deep breath. She really had been working on her anger management issues.  Before replying, she paused to count to twenty in her head.

Observing Hermione's pursed lips and and suddenly tense shoulders, Draco knew he’d stepped in it. _Shite_.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked in a deceptively calm voice, hands hidden under the table, clenched tightly together.

“Look, that came our wrong. There are many reasons behind calling someone a blood traitor. One of the least nefarious is related to cutting yourself off from old magics in favor of only celebrating Christian holidays. My parents celebrated Christmas too when I was a kid, but we never gave up strengthening our bonds on the traditional holy days. Like the summer solstice. Some families, like the Weasleys, saw those days as ways that purebloods excluded Muggleborns, or even half-bloods. So, they boycotted them in solidarity. In retrospect, it would have been smarter for them, for all of us, to start teaching more about the days and including everyone. Hindsight sure is a bitch."

Hermione took another deep breath and released it slowly. Her logical mind knew that Draco was absolutely correct and couldn’t help but agree with him. She still wanted to lash out. Hearing the words “blood traitor” when used in a historical context should not make her feel this way. She counted to twenty again.

“I see your point. Next time, just don’t start out with the derisive tone. It’s tough not to want to hex first and ask questions second,” she told him. Doing her best to move on, she added, “Now that we’ve established why I really didn’t have anyone to teach me, will you?”

* * *

After dropping anchor in a spot just offshore of the coast, roughly due West of Rome on Sunday afternoon, the yacht’s crew made sure the couple had everything they would need for the evening and early morning, before Disapparating. They were told to return no earlier than two hours after sunrise the next day. As soon as they were gone, Hermione began to set the wards. The boat would become completely hidden from anyone at all until she removed the wards – similar to what the trio had done every day they lived in that damn tent.

Draco had spent the last twenty-four hours giving Hermione a crash course on everything he knew regarding Summer Solstice celebrations. The location they found themselves in couldn’t be more perfect. A place “in-between” worlds – a location where water, land, and sky met – was considered the most powerful place to hold a ceremony.

He outlined Hermione’s role to act at the Goddess. She would be crowning Draco in his role as the Solar God. Explaining the principles behind the worship of the sun, Draco pointing out that “Father Sun” working in tandem with “Mother Nature” gave life to everything on this planet. Although these assigned gender roles muddied the waters for some who saw the rituals as being sexist, Draco explained it as a counter-balance to the myriad of night-time, moon-driven, “female” rituals. Without taking time to create this balance, wizards began to falter on a spiritual level.

As an aside, Draco wondered aloud, "What if there's some sort of internal call in wizards to take to a warrior path when they weren’t allowed to express their male part in spiritual ceremonies along with the women, effectively gelding the men? A soul left wanting more will fight to cling to something. That surely would explain the dearth of female Death Eaters under Voldemort."

"Oh my God! That's..." Hermione trailed off, staring at Draco as her mind whirled with the possibilities. "Brilliant."

Knowing that they could go off on this tangent for hours, if not days, Draco purposefully picked back up on his instructions.

“We will begin a fast at sunset that won’t lift until after sunrise. During the darkness of night, the Goddess will make the preparations for her God. You will begin with a ritual bathing of your body, followed by bathing me once you are purified,” he started out. The blond went into greater detail so Hermione would know exactly how to proceed with the cleansing.

“After I am purified, I will meditate while you arrange our worship space. You will need to construct or transfigure a raised pallet with space for air to flow all around and under it. Most of the pallet should be taken up by pure white bedding for us to “worship” upon.” He really couldn’t help the leer that spread across his face as he suggestively drawled the last part.  Hermione’s core tingled in response.

Sex Magic.

“A portion of the pallet also needs to contain an altar and fire pit with kindling and sticks ready for a small sacred fire. The fire will be lit using a magnifying glass to harness the power of the sun’s first rays. We will also have two crystals ready to capture the power generated by our rituals. During the darkest days of winter, you can draw the magic back out to sustain yourself,” Draco finished everything he could think to tell her.

The wizard had found some of these steps were difficult to explain, as he had learned the male parts of the ritual from his father, while young witches were taught by older, experienced women. Draco’s sense of curiosity meant he’d often spent more time while a young man observing the women, rather than the meditating he was supposed to be doing. He’d felt a bit guilty about it at the time, but smirked about it now, as the spying paid dividends.

Once all had been readied, Draco and Hermione slipped under the white sheet on the pallet together and snuggled up under the stars. She’d made a very plush bed for them, with a large feather mattress. It was nearly killing her, the anticipation of what would take place in a few hours. Until they began the ritual just before sunrise, the two of them were not allowed to exchange any bodily fluids. Even a chaste kiss could ruin everything they’d prepared.

Draco soon dozed off, the gentle rocking of the boat lulling him to sleep. It wasn't long before Hermione followed him.

An hour before sunrise, Hermione's wand alarm went off. Draco walked them point by point through the ritual again, and she made sure they were prepared.

“Ready?” she asked him, knowing that she would be in charge of the opening of the ceremony. He was already half hard. Hell yes he was ready.

Hermione began with the incantation Draco had taught her.

While the final minutes of the shortest night of year ticked away, Hermione rode Draco to her completion, using him to attain an orgasm that opened up her magical core to his. She had total control over him, pulling on his magic and wrapping it around herself as the sky lightened behind her curly mane. His Goddess. It took discipline not to spill himself inside of her at the glorious sight she made, with her inner walls squeezing his cock as he could feel their magics mingling.

As the first edge of the sun broke the horizon, Draco flipped her over, taking control in his capacity as the Sun God. He fucked her deep and hard, deeper than he normally would by placing both her legs up on his shoulders, as he pulled his magic back in and called hers forth, enveloping himself in it as he worked towards his orgasm. The world narrowed down to just the two of them and nothing else. Over and over the head of his cock bumped against her cervix. The ritual called for him to come before the sun was fully risen. That wouldn’t be a problem.

Draco could see Hermione’s magic sparkling in her hair as he prepared to spill deep inside her. His orgasm hit him as it never had before. He pushed in as far as he could possibly go, and as the first spurt of his seed left him, he felt her body respond, her cervix opening against him to caress the tip of him, looking to pull his offering in.

“My Goddess,” he moaned, staring straight into her eyes.

“My God,” she responded as his magic exited his body in waves timed to his ejaculation inside of her, leaving both of their magics mingling in the air all around them.

Above her, Draco did look like a golden-haired god, with the sun creating a halo. His magic showed in his eyes and she couldn’t look away from it. He’d triggered some sort of transcendent orgasm deep within her. Hermione was sure that every cell in her body was being cleansed and revitalized.

She could feel him pressed tight against her cervix as his warm seed filled her. Every other time they’d had sex, he liked to thrust his way through his orgasm, not stopping his movement until he was completely spent. Now, she could feel each pulse and each wave that accompanied it as he stayed completely still, buried to the hilt.

Later that morning, after they had completed everything, he would tell her about the intense feeling of her cervix rhythmically kissing the head of his cock. And then she would have to read up on cervical orgasms. But for now, she just enjoyed the feeling of complete bliss he was somehow creating.

Draco wanted nothing more than to stay buried inside his witch forever. Instead, he knew he had to pull out and complete the final steps, as was his right. He reached over to pick up the two crystals waiting on the small altar next to them. In his current role of Sun God, he could choose how much of their mingled power to take or give. He took equally from both of them and distributed the mixed magic evenly into the two receptacles.

He pulled out of the warmth of Hermione’s body with deep regret and ran the two crystals along his softening member, wetting the quartz with their mixed fluids. He laid the crystals beside the fire pit, picked up the magnifying glass, and trained the device just right to catch the sun’s rays and light the kindling. The fire didn’t need to burn for long; the first flare acted to seal their magic in the crystals until they called upon it in the future.

He completed the ritual with the incantation that book-ended Hermione’s opening words.

He laid back down next to her and pulled her in tight to his side with a satisfied sigh. She echoed his sigh as she used his chest as a pillow and pulled the sheet up over them.

“Is it always like that?” Hermione chose to be the first to break the silence.

Draco laughed, his chest rumbling pleasantly beneath her cheek. “Not even close,” he assured her.

They spoke in whispers, still feeling the reverence brought on by the amount of magic they’d shared and could still feel swirling around them. Draco had purposely left a small amount behind, enjoying the residual high as the power licked and strummed along their bodies.

“I love you,” Hermione tipped her head up to look at him as she said it.

“And I love you,” Draco replied, tilting his head enough to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“Do you think that made the difference?  Love?” She couldn’t help but turn the conversation academic.

“I believe so,” he said. He thought back on other witches he had participated with over the years. Most had been perfunctory – friends, or acquaintances even, paired up by circumstances. One year it hadn’t even worked, the woman above him unable to achieve an orgasm before the sun rose. She’d been mortified. Another year, the witch chosen for him had been so much less magically powerful than him, he’d felt bad about taking any of her magic for himself.

Besides those two times, he’d had years when he was sure the ritual went off well. Both Greengrass girls made good partners. Daphne’s mother had requested him for her eldest the year after he returned from Japan. Draco and Astoria underwent the ritual together twice while engaged.

However, to complete it with someone with whom you shared both trust and love? Incomparable. He told her this, and they dissected it together for the next hour, until his stomach growled.

“Let’s get cleaned up and scrounge up a snack before the crew tries to Apparate in, ending up splinched after they’re unable to find us,” Draco suggested.

Hermione stretched languidly, wishing for her current feeling to never end. She would swear she was still mildly orgasming, even now. Draco admired her naked body as she stood, but his dick didn’t even twitch. He felt completely sated.

They each picked up a crystal, feeling the power contained within, before Draco cast an _Aguamenti_ to insure the fire was completely out. Hermione quickly took care of everything else. Robes set on a deck chair the night before awaited them. Slipping on the cover-up and securing the sash, Hermione took down the wards just before they went below deck.

* * *

Later that afternoon, the yacht could be found creeping up on the city of Amalfi, when a small cove suddenly appeared before them. Hermione was reminded of the way 12 Grimmauld Place appeared the first time she stood outside of the Black townhouse. The crew were expecting it to happen, having already familiarized themselves with the location prior to their arrival in Monaco. The captain expertly maneuvered in. As the crew docked the boat, Hermione stared at the villa above them.

“Not bad for a shack built in the 1420’s,” she drawled.

“Just wait until you see the inside,” he said with a smirk. Turned back to the captain he said, “I am going to take Miss Granger up to my home and make sure she feels settled before I return to speak with your associate.” The wizard nodded and turned back to his first mate to go through their final checklist.

Draco hooked an arm around Hermione’s waist and Apparated her up to the portico of the small (compared to Malfoy Manor) villa. Having lived in Rome for a year, Hermione was familiar with the architectural style of Italian Renaissance houses. Draco walked her through it, and it was stunning in every way she’d imagined it would be, but the details didn’t necessarily jump out at her. She oohed and ahhed appropriately.

When he walked her out to the terrace overlooking the Mediterranean, she stood still, appreciating the breath-taking view.

“Well?” he asked.

“This I could get used to,” the witch admitted, lifting her chin and pivoting her head to indicate the panorama before them.

The sun glinted off the honey-colored highlights in her hair. She wore it down today, forgoing any attempt to tame it after the morning they’d spent together. Her skin had a glow brought on not only by the past three days spent basking in the sun, but also by the residual magic of the ceremony.

Hermione observed Draco observing her. He reminded her of a tiger just now. Deceptively languid, easily obscuring his power, hiding behind his stripes. The image was enforced by a gentle breeze swaying the trees on the other side of the railing, creating changing shadow patterns across his golden hair.

“Sit down and enjoy it,” Draco told her. “I’ll pop into the kitchen to have Chef Luka put together tea for us and bring it out to you while I go back down to the boat. Do you need anything else? Anything from your luggage? I can Apparate down, grab whatever you need, and Apparate right back up.”

“I can Apparate down myself if I need anything. Just go and get it done with so we can sit here together.”

* * *

“Did you ever visit Ravello when you lived in Rome?” Draco asked her as they enjoyed an asparagus and brie omelet the next morning.

Hermione adored Chef Luka. Draco had lured the wizard away from an Italian restaurant 5 years ago to work as a full-time personal chef. He followed Draco to other residences when needed, such as this week. Otherwise, when in London, he had his own flat and Floo’ed in to work. Draco’s housekeeper did the same.

“I kept meaning to get there, but I never made the time. Heck, I only went home England a handful of times that year and the Floo in my flat in Rome was connected directly to my parents’ house. Taking time off to sight-see outside of the city itself fell by the wayside,” she admitted with a bit of regret.

Hermione had arrived in Rome with a long bucket list, naively thinking she would be able to accomplish two Masteries at the same time, and still see the sights.  Hermione left Rome a year later with five items crossed off the extensive list. All five took place on weekends when her parents were in the country and they tore her away from her studies.

“Perfect. Let’s go up there today then. I can Apparate us up and we’ll walk around for a few hours,” he decided for them.

Hermione really had wanted to see Ravello for years now. Just like Scotland had the all-Wizarding village of Hogsmeade, Italy contained Ravello. The small commune was founded just after the fall of the Roman Empire. The rise of Christianity, along with the disintegration of the protections guaranteed by a strong central government, left the wizards and witches of that time seeking a safe haven. The city quietly grew in power over the next seven centuries, with the magical folk exerting a sort of shadow rule over the coastal communities of Muggles below them. Trade in the area flourished and fortunes were made. Dynasties were born.

The start of Ravello’s downfall could be traced to an intervention by the Pope in 1086. Strong bishops were assigned to the area, and the witches and wizards began to feel the strain. In 1137 there was an outright attack on the city and the population dispersed. The ones who remained behind cast a series of charms to hide Ravello, creating the hidden, uplottable city still standing today.

Hermione put on a comfortable pair of walking shoes after breakfast, made sure she had everything she needed in her purse, and her wand was safely stowed in her wrist holster. Dressed in linen trousers and a sleeveless blouse, with her hair was pulled back in a low knot, Hermione's look was carefree.

Draco was wearing a pair of dragonhide hiking boots – a compliment to his khaki trousers and short sleeve cotton shirt.

The pair didn’t look overly touristy, but in the small community of roughly 2500, they would undoubtedly stand out. Draco Apparated them, appearing roughly five miles away from his villa at the designated spot within the village. Hermione took in the surroundings as he moved them forward.

Stunning villas galore stood around them, most from a time almost a millennium ago when wealthy upper-class noblemen thrived. Now the large old homes were often turned into flats, inhabited mostly by artisans and musicians. Some were bed and breakfasts. 

Besides being a tourist attraction, the town was known worldwide as the premier place to hire a magical portrait artist. Several paintings created here adorned Malfoy Manor’s walls. Family legend claimed the villa the couple just came from existed as way to be more comfortable during any extended stays necessitated by multiple sittings while a portrait was produced. Strangely enough, the Italian home did not contain a single family portrait, but rather landscapes.

And where there were artists, musicians were sure to follow. The town hosted many musical events and concerts throughout the year. Even now, the sound of a guitar floated on the air. As Draco took Hermione’s hand and led her down the street, she found herself staring at the surfeit of galleries, museums, cafes, and shops.

“Let’s walk around the neighborhoods for a bit and work up an appetite for lunch. After lunch, we can explore the downtown.” Draco urged them down a side street.

They passed statues along the jaunt, and she found heads charmed to smile, arms charmed to lift in a wave, even traditional robes carved of stone charmed to sway in the breeze. The cathedral built by Pope Victor III upon making the city the seat of the diocese still stood in the town center, as did many smaller churches scattered along side streets. Hermione watched in awe as trumpeting angels atop spires high above them turned their golden instruments towards the heavens in synchronization.

Complimenting the mountain height views of the terraced land below them, leading down to the clear blue sea, were stunning gardens - a new one at every turn.

Hermione voiced a sudden thought, “Do you think Neville has been here? He would be in heaven. I just saw a gravity-resistant tree. I thought those only grew in Nepal.” She glanced to her left. “And look, there’s a Tormentil. I wonder what someone could find if they were truly looking.”

“The Longbottoms have an estate here. Blaise and I sometimes ran into Neville during the summers as children,” Draco answered nonchalantly.

“What?” Hermione gaped in an unbecoming manner.

The wizard next to her rolled his eyes. “Really, I know it’s easy to forget at times that such a graceless oaf is a member of the Sacred 28, but it shouldn’t surprise you that a family as old as his has at least one or two homes outside of Britain.”

“Graceless oaf? Says the man whose best friends were Crabbe and Goyle? And have you laid eyes upon Neville in the past 10 years? We can’t possibly be talking about the same wizard.”

Draco huffed. Of course he’d laid eyes upon Longbottom. Draco would admit (if only inside the sanctity of his head) that Neville Longbottom was fit. That wasn’t the point. The point was, why was his girlfriend remarking upon it?

He turned to ask her as much and found a knowing smirk upon her face.

“Oh, so you have noticed?” she asked in a saccharine tone.

Bollocks. Ever since the incident with Charlie, she loved catching him in these sort of traps. Or maybe, he liked being caught in these sort of traps. Hard to tell.

“I’ll concede that Longbottom manages to convey a certain sense of grace upon the dance floor. He is a sought-after partner at galas,” Draco said with a sniff, turning his ramrod straight back on her. He proceeded down the sidewalk with a definite patrician air.

Hermione snickered.

“I can’t wait to talk to Neville all about this the next time I dance with him,” Hermione lilted.

Draco refused to take the bait.

* * *

That afternoon in a gallery, Hermione fell in love with a sculpture done in bronze of a maiden dancing with scarves. She watched the sculpture for a few minutes, waiting for it to “reset” itself, similar to wizard photos. However, she was even more enchanted when she realized there was not a pattern.

“Extraordinary,” she whispered to herself.

Draco came over to watch it with her and asked if she was going to buy it.

“I don’t have any place to put something of this size,” she reminded him. She had a large flat, but this deserved to be outside. “It would look absurd in my living room.”

“Well, I like it. It would look perfect out at the villa in my garden.” Draco nodded to himself, as if agreeing with his own statement.

Speaking of his garden reminded Draco that he needed to show it off to Hermione when they returned to the estate. He kept a small plot of potions ingredients native to the region. It didn’t contain anything that wasn’t also grown in a greenhouse back in Britain, but he found it calming to walk about the plants which were able to grow outdoors here, when he visited. His mother originally planted the garden when he was young. He remembered the times as a child, and even as a teenager, when he had harvested items from it to use in the small lab onsite. Draco still used the same wizard-owned business as his parents to maintain the property during the endless months it stood vacant. One of their duties was to keep the garden alive and well.

Lady’s Mantle, Begonias, Niffler’s Fancy, Cornflowers, Daisies, Cobra Lilies, and Boom Berries were among the items in his garden. It was a mixture of non-magical plants and magical ones. The only plant to worry about was the Cobra Lily. They were carnivorous, but seemed able to distinguish a human from prey. Usually they ignored anything larger than a mouse.

However, one had bit him as a child after he’d shook a stick at it. 

Lucius heard his scream and Apparated straight in. Without a word, he’d correctly assessed the situation, grabbed Draco up to Apparate back inside their house, and appeared directly in front of the cupboard where they stored potions. He grabbed the correct healing potion without a second thought and opening it said, “Drink.”

Draco did as his father bade. He didn’t recall the interaction as cold, although to an outsider that might have been the appearance. More methodical. Lucius had stayed by Draco’s side for the next hour - Narcissa was out shopping. He hadn’t coddled his son. The two had barely even said a word during that time, both sat and read books in the small conservatory. It was one of rare times Draco had felt sure his father loved him.

After purchasing the sculpture, Draco agreed upon a time for delivery the next morning.

* * *

The second full day of their stay found them back up in the small town. This time they spent the majority of their time after lunch in a museum. Due to that area’s status as a trade hub during its heyday, there were items from countries all along the coast of the Mediterranean. She saw African items along with Middle Eastern ones. The growing influence of both Christianity and Islam could be seen when looking from the oldest items to those that were relatively newer. Draco had been to the museum before, and, for Hermione’s sake, tried not to act as bored as he felt.

That evening, they returned up to town to take in the sunset and small concert. As the band played, fairies flitted above them, providing the only light on a cloudy evening after the sun went down.

On the third day, Chef Luka packed them a picnic lunch and after Apparating up to Ravello, they began a hike down to Amalfi. As they reached the part of the trail where the protective wards ended around the outskirts of the hidden town, Hermione felt the magic wash over her skin.

“You felt that didn’t you?” Draco unnecessarily asked after seeing her little shiver. She was turning her head to look in every direction around them.

“Yes, but I don’t see a difference,” she told him. “I read that I wouldn’t. But still, I thought it all might disappear after crossing the line. The spell to hide it from Muggles is simply amazing, you know.”

Draco shrugged. His entire life up until he started purchasing Muggle flats for himself in a few major cities was spent living in world hidden from Muggles. Every property his parents owned was hidden. Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, the Ministry, and then Hogwarts were all the same. The complex spell was normal to him.

They continued their hike down, and then enjoyed some time in Amalfi before Draco pulled Hermione onto a small cobbled side street to discreetly Disapparate.

On the fourth day, Draco suggested they wait until tea time to Apparate into the town. They could sit outside a café and enjoy their tea while people-watching. Afterwards, they stumbled upon a small impromptu musical performance in a square.

On their fifth full, and final day, they took a short trip on the yacht. The magical adaptations were complete and the crew had returned to take them out for a few hours to demonstrate it all. The most interesting to Hermione was the flag that flew atop the vessel. It was charmed to appear to belong to whatever country would be most advantageous depending on who was viewing it. 

Most Muggle appliances and electronics were removed; the galley was retrofitted for food preparation using magic, the loos were reconfigured, and the laundry facilities were completely switched over.

There were two exceptions - the entertainment center filled with items charmed by Hermione’s company to allow them to watch a movie or listen to music, and a muggle short-wave radio in the bridge for emergencies.

The next morning the two traveled via Floo to the Italian Ministry and took a Portkey home to London.

**Author's Note:**

> And finally, I have the wonderfully patient, talented, hilarious, bestest alpha and beta to thank for guiding me along with every single chapter- 89JadedPictures.


End file.
